Enough
by kesla
Summary: Garrus, Shepard, and a hell of a lot of banter. ME2 setting with throwback to ME1; friendship and eventual romance with emphasis on dialogue and character development. In character, no fluff. Rated M for language.
1. Sight

_Chapter 1, published 4.13.12, **last updated 4.11.13**. details appended to chapter text._

* * *

"How are your thermal clips?"

He ejected a sink, watched it roll against the trash beneath his perch. Tried to keep his subtones casual when he answered, but his mouth was too dry and his larynx too tense.

"You know how it is. Could always use a couple more."

Bullets slammed against the wall where he'd taken cover, grinding down its strength chip by chip. Rounds fired too high gouged chunks from the ceiling, and rained plaster on the bodies of twelve men and women at his back.

He didn't look. To look was to remember, and to remember was to invite a mistake.

Garrus opened his Mantis and shunted sinks mechanically into the breech.

_Rearm. Review_, he said silently to the mercs. _Just stop jumping that barricade for a half-minute_. A half-minute—that was all. Time to patch new wounds, flex stiffening fingers, drink his dwindling supply of water. Thoughts of escape, or survival, had vanished hours ago. Only one goal remained: to take as many of the bastards as he could when he went.

He dragged his rifle back into position. Dad was talking over the comm, a shield against the admission of weakness, a reminder of what he had done and must still do. Discipline, duty. Success at all costs.

The turian way.

Garrus closed his eyes as his muscles burned, protesting the resumption of a position he'd held for hours. He'd always thought, at the end, that he'd think back to his life before C-Sec. Solana, his mother, his father. Before everything had gone to hell. But even now, his father on the line and the sound of Palaven in his ear, all he remembered was Shepard. The quiet days between missions, tinkering with the Mako on the SR1. The MSV Fedele, Saleon down the barrel of a gun and Shepard, talking him down. Ilos.

She'd been like Dad, in a way. Principled. Unflinching. Rejecting the possibility of a no-win scenario. He pulled the trigger and felt a bullet graze his arm, tearing through flesh.

_"And so he dies anyway. What was the point of that?"_

_"You can't predict how people react, Garrus. But you can control how you respond."_

He knew he was here because of her. He'd left C-Sec to join her crew. Returned because she'd pushed him to, speaking to him on a level his father never had. He'd watched when the flag was draped over her empty coffin; watched in the aftermath when the Council turned tail and dismissed the Reaper menace. He'd watched 'til the one disillusioned day he could watch no more, and then he'd watched himself quit, turning his back on the ones who'd turned their backs on her.

"No matter how bad things are falling apart around you, as long as you have at least one bullet left, you can still get the job done. Understand?"

"Yeah. I do." He shifted his shoulders back to readiness and rested a talon on the trigger.

Three mercs had jumped the barricade. Freelancers. Second-hand armor unpainted, guns moving in erratic sweeps. Untrained. Green.

One less.

Dad's voice was a constant in his ear, bracing by the fact of its presence.

"How many targets are there on the field?"

"Not many. Not yet."

"Then reload."

To obey orders was instinct. He reached into a pocket for another brace of sinks...and touched seams.

End of the line.

He knew without counting that there were seven clips in the chamber.

Seven clips—seven shots.

Seven kills, and then he could rest.

It was more difficult than it should've been, to say it. He drew his voice out of himself, cutting across his father.

"Can't. This is it." He looked down the scope. "Thanks, Dad. ...For everything."

He fired through the sudden silence over the comm.

Six.

"Listen, son." His subtones were steady, pitched midrange with iron control—the same they'd been every day of Garrus's life. "You finish up what you have to do there, and then you come on home to Palaven. We have a lot to sort out."

A final lesson, necessary and perfect. Garrus nodded once, tersely, against his scope.

"I have to go now. Don't worry about me—I'll make it home when I can. The." His throat was tight. "The odds just got a lot better."

Six clips. Last wave. He realized with a part of his mind that Dad was still on the line. Waiting with him.

They dropped onto the bridge singly and in pairs. Moving towards the wrong cover, looking in the wrong directions, stepping in the wrong places. Amateurs, leaderless. He exhaled and killed the closest, kept the others cowering in cover. Bought himself a little more time.

Five.

Some hung back. Weapons well-used, handled with ease. Ex-military or professionals. Meant intent, not uncertainty. Meant organization, and threat.

Garrus turned his sights on them.

Humans. Two females, one male, shielded. No helmets. One female looking left. Her mouth moved, and the others nodded.

An officer. Garrus placed the crosshairs directly over her temple.

She drew her gun, signaling her team. Alliance hand signs. Shepard would've been disgusted.

He exhaled. The world narrowed to the stillness of her body, the symmetry of the crosshairs, the steadiness of his talon on the trigger.

Then she looked up, and their eyes met through the scope.

Garrus's rifle jerked and slipped off the ledge. His shoulders slammed against the wall, yanking him into cover.

"You've stopped shooting. What's wrong?"

_The commander glanced over the platform's edge. Saren's body lay sprawled on the grass below, blood pooling from the hole in his head. No life signs._

He was breathing too hard, too fast. "I thought I just saw—"

_Her face was hidden by her helmet, and her voice expressionless when she turned away._

_"Make sure he's dead."_

Shepard.

Dad's voice cut through reeling shock. "Garrus. You need to focus."

It couldn't. He'd seen her because he'd been thinking of her. That was _all_. He shut his eyes, steadied his pounding heart, and looked down his sights.

There, advancing down the bridge. Squad at her flank. But the freelancers were leaving cover, confirmed hostiles and closer.

A faceplate shattered as his bullet lanced through.

Four.

He swapped in a concussive round and fixed crosshairs on her shoulder. Set instinct against the logic that told him it couldn't be her, and need for certainty against the training that told him not to waste sinks.

Time was up anyway. One clip less wouldn't change that.

He pulled the trigger. She staggered and glanced up at his perch, face unobstructed in his sights.

Shepard's face.

She looked down the bridge again and picked up her pace. "Shields're down," he heard her report. "Let's move." Low, competent, confident.

Shepard's voice.

..._I'll be damned_.

Garrus took cover and ejected his sink, relief mingled now with uneasiness. The how of her presence was a question for later. The why was problematic. The Shepard he knew would never take a job like this. Even as a Spectre she'd toed the line, requiring her crew to do the same. But two years was a long time.

His omnitool flashed, alerting him to the remaining freelancers as they closed on his base.

_Shit shit shit_._ Focus. _Garrus raised himself into position, training sights swiftly on the nearest target. Shepard wasn't the fucking problem.

_Let it be you._

He exhaled.

_As you were._

His talon slid over the trigger—and his mark crumpled.

"They're with Archangel!" someone shouted.

His scope snapped to Shepard. Tearing left, shields flaring under the mercs' barrage. She drop-skidded into cover and reappeared to lay down suppressing fire for her squad.

"Watch your ten, Massani! ML-77. Lawson, mercs go near that gas tank, you stop 'em going anywhere else, got it?"

An explosion tore through his base, mingled with the screams of the freelancers.

He grinned. "Dad. I'm going to go. I'll see you soon."

The sincerity carried this time. There was a shift in his father's subtones to match when he answered.

"Then get it done, son."

The line went dead.

Backup teams were mounting the barricade. Garrus reached for his assault rifle, reserved as a last defense.

Wouldn't be needing that anymore.

He opened it, transferring clips clumsily to his sniper rifle. Shepard would deal with the intruders. He'd hold the rear.

Methodically he shot, ejected, and fired, eyes on his targets but half his attention on the battle he could hear advancing through his base and up the steps. He knew Shepard wouldn't let the mercs roll him up from behind. Knew that, as surely as he knew Palaven was hot as hell. Still, when the doors finally gave it took all his will not to glance over his shoulder and verify that the intruders were friendlies. He focused on his mark as the man scrambled into cover.

"Archangel?"

The merc was about to move. He could feel it in the lull, hear it in the restless scrape of the man's armor and the compulsive taps of his finger against the trigger. Garrus raised a finger without looking from his scope.

_Wait._

Silence, a few seconds stretched into days as the merc's head moved inch by inch into view. Exhale...beat...fire.

Garrus lowered his rifle as the gunshot's echo faded and checked his mark for vitals.

Dead.

He unfolded from his defensive position, using his gun to lever himself upright. Tried not to limp when he crossed the room, and settled onto a pile of munitions before he could really embarrass himself by falling over.

Or, possibly, by grabbing her to confirm her reality and getting shot for the presumption.

Garrus removed his helmet.

"Shepard," he said, as casually as he could. "I thought you were dead."

* * *

_Rewrote reminiscing, introspection, and observation scenes throughout. Shortened up sentences in most sectors. Cut superfluous and/or self-indulgent clauses. Tweaked diction to fit Garrus's voice and state of mind. Dropped articles like hotcakes. _|| _12.21 Tightened up syntax everywhere for voice._ || _12.24 Added a line for pacing. Rewrote Shepard's combat lines and sequence. Tweaked diction for style and cut words for voice in final scene._ || _12.25 Rewrote chapter to account for Homeworlds 3 canon (thanks for the tip, N0odles). Tweaked retained lines to establish Shepard's voice (thanks, MostlyAnon). || 12.26 Cut clauses for narrative flow. Split sentences and tweaked diction for Garrus's voice. Rewrote end of the call and most lines involving the ID check**. **_|| _12.27 Use of "fingers" and "talons" is now motivated._ || _1.23 Reworked introspection lines throughout for voice. Tightened up syntax throughout. Fixed a couple of prose lines for better narrative flow._ ||_ 2.02 Swapped out a verb in prose_. _Rearranged lines prior to Shepard opening fire for pacing. Cut clauses and rewrote lines after call ends and in final scene. Restored a word-final 'g' in Shepard's dialogue. _|| _2.05 Split a sentence for voice. Changed an introspection line. Changed line breaks for pacing in the recognition scene._ || _3.05 Added a preposition in final scene for syntactical parallelism. _|| _3.22 Cut a superfluous sentence. Swapped out a verb for sound. _|| _3.30 Minor diction edits. Rewrote one of Garrus's early introspection scenes. Em-dashes, ellipses, and semi-colons seeded for pacing. Tightened up syntax in the countdown prior to recognition scene._ || **_4.08 Cut a couple of sentences and rewrote others for style, pacing, and voice. _**|| **_4.11 Cut superfluous lines. Rewrote some introspection lines for voice. Removed line breaks for pacing._**


	2. Ally

_Chapter 2, published 4.13.12, **last updated 4.13.13**. details appended to chapter text._

* * *

Shepard leaned against the table as the doors shut behind him, then let out a slow breath.

_Jesus fuck._

* * *

Salvage from Garrus's safehouse sat forgotten in decon, stuffed in the pack she'd found under his bunk. His rifle was strapped to the bottom. Shepard crouched and untied the fastenings.

Gun was worse for wear. Sights smeared and probably misaligned, bolt and trigger caked with blue-shot blood.

It shuddered to assembly as she raised the scope to her eye, couching the stock against her shoulder. Text wasn't visible, but the silhouette said M-92 Mantis. Bolt-action, targeting laser, one clip per round. Heavy as hell, and probably a pain in the ass to maneuver if a hostile closed with the carrier.

He'd always been long-range support. Profiled sniper in every way—emotionally withdrawn, technical, intelligent. Quiet excepting the obligatory smartass comment. Shepard considered, lowering the gun. She'd have to run the numbers, but by sight and touch...

* * *

"Operative Taylor." Shepard stuck her head into the Armory.

"Commander." Jacob saluted, noting as he did that she held Archangel's bloodstained sniper rifle. The muzzle was angled towards the ceiling and the stock snug against her forearm per Alliance safety protocols; but he couldn't stop himself from remembering the Cerberus cells Shepard had slaughtered two years ago. In theory, he knew Shepard was pragmatic. She wouldn't put the Collector threat on hold to pursue a personal vendetta against Cerberus. But knowing it and believing it were two different things.

"Have techs assemble an M-98 Widow and deliver it to my quarters as soon as possible."

"For Garrus Vakarian?" he asked.

"Gunnery Officer Vakarian. He's workin' the forward batteries between missions." She raised her eyebrows, surveying Jacob's face. "Problem?"

"Uh—" Jacob cleared his throat. He didn't need a background report to know that when Shepard gave an order, she expected it to be followed. Immediately. "Assembling another Widow will put a considerable dent in our resources, Commander."

"Alliance gave me a pretty good severance package. That'll more than cover it." Shepard transferred Archangel's rifle to her other hand, eyes narrowing a little. It did nothing for his confidence that she seemed just as comfortable handling the gun in her left as in her right. LC Shepard: N7, Spectre, survivor of Akuze, Savior of the Citadel, and ambidextrous. Figured. "State your real concern, Taylor."

_Too late to back out_, he thought. "With all due respect, Commander..."

Shepard set the gun's muzzle on the ground. "Had an NCO once who told me whenever someone says 'with all due respect,' they really mean 'kiss my ass.' I wonder if she was right."

Jacob winced inside. "With all due respect, Commander," he repeated, "Gunnery Officer Vakarian has been through severe physical and emotional trauma. He's also an unknown—until we recruited him, we had no indication of his real identity. I think we should wait to treat him as crew until we've assembled a psychological profile and the Illusive Man confirms he's really fit for duty."

"I see." Shepard's voice was neutral, but Jacob had been in the military. He knew when someone was going to get chewed out, and he was fairly certain that was about to happen now. He braced himself.

"Look, Commander," he attempted. "I know he was part of your original crew, so you're close to him. But he could be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, or any number of physical problems associated with his injuries. I don't want him failing you in the line of fire."

Shepard's eyes glinted, and she leaned the rifle against the weapons locker. "You've been reading the Illusive Man's dossier on me, Taylor." She linked her hands behind her back and began to pace when he didn't answer. "Lemme guess. My formative years spent with gangs took their toll. I'm intensely loyal to those with a history of service to me, and slow to trust new recruits. Well, I've heard it before." She stopped and looked across the table at him. "I can't help my background. But it doesn't affect my ability to make the right call. My decision to retain Vakarian is a direct result of his competence and character. If he's got PTSD, it's not crippling—he held out over a day before we showed up. As to character, his integrity as a C-Sec officer and on the SR1 is corroborated by his identity as Archangel on Omega, and yes, my confidence in his dependability exists because he served well and faithfully before." She shook her head when he opened his mouth, stopping him. "As for you and Operative Lawson, I don't trust or distrust you. But you're both Cerberus operatives, and my distrust towards Cerberus is based on its disregard for sentient life—I won't forget Akuze, Kahoku, those Thorian thralls, the rachni, or Chasca any time soon. So I'm withholding judgment on you 'til I see the proof of your integrity. See, the Illusive Man's gonna vet all potential recruits for this mission, but he wants me to take his own people's character on faith. That's favoritism, and there are no favorites on my ship. That applies to human and non-human crew, Cerberus and non-Cerberus." She paused. "We clear?"

Well, there were no holes in her argument, he thought grudgingly. "Yes, ma'am," he said aloud.

"Good. Vakarian stays on as Gunnery Officer 'til I see fit to dismiss him. Have that Widow brought up double time."

Jacob saluted. "Commander."

Shepard picked up Archangel's rifle and walked out. _Ass_, she thought, punching the call button for the elevator. _No concerns about Jack, but just so happens the first non-human recruit needs to be profiled again_.

She couldn't dwell on that. As long as the mission existed to align their goals, the Cerberus operatives and their new turian crew member would get on fine.

"EDI," she said aloud. "Have someone move Gunnery Officer Vakarian's belongings to the Main Battery. And tell Mess Sergeant Gardner to make sure he's stocked on dextro rations. No nutrient paste, understood? He gets solid food like the rest of us."

"Yes, Shepard."

She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall as the doors shut. Garrus wasn't sentimental, and neither was she. The M-98 was just a gun with '_Glad you're here, let's never do that again_' in the subtext.

* * *

Garrus stepped into the Battery and looked around. Dark, out of the way, and quiet except the equipment's hum. It would do just fine.

There was space right of the console. He knelt and set down the crate he'd carried up from the cargo hold. It was heavy as hell and he was pretty sure he'd pulled something getting it here, but at least he'd have a place to store his gear and effects.

Garrus sat on his locker and relaxed, feeling the tension of overworked muscles withdraw. His things were somewhere else—decon, knowing Alliance protocols. He'd get them in a moment. For now he just wanted to take stock.

So Shepard was with Cerberus now. It'd been a surprise to wake up to, but he wasn't worried about that anymore, or about her. The commander had been a damned knight two years ago. From what he could take from their talk in the Comm Room, that hadn't changed and never would. If her crew had any really extremist leanings, she'd keep them in line.

Next: he was alive. Not sure how he felt about it, either. He'd been ready to die back there. By the end, he'd looked forward to it. But here he was, on the way to full recovery. Well, he'd deal with that too. Shepard needed him, and he wasn't about to go brood in a corner when he could be watching her back, guarding her against Reapers and merc bands and the neo-terrorist assholes she'd been roped into working for. She'd died once, and now she was back. As far as he was concerned, it was his job to keep it that way.

Especially since he sure as hell wasn't going through the five stages of mourning again, or whatever Williams had called it. Some ways, he'd never gotten out of denial. Never really believed she'd died until she showed up on Omega to pull his ass out of the fire, and he realized what it'd been like to have her gone. Like sleepwalking for two years, and being woken by a bullet to the face.

He looked up as the Battery doors opened. Human female, Cerberus fatigues.

"Gunnery Officer Vakarian?" she asked, seeing him.

Garrus climbed to his feet. "Ah—yes?"

She held out a hand. "I'm Engineer Gabriella Daniels, in charge of the propulsion systems."

He grasped it briefly, remembering his C-Sec etiquette. "Nice to meet you," he said politely.

"My colleague's off getting your stuff," Daniels continued. "I want to sync your suit with the rest of the ground team, if you've got the time."

"...Yeah," Garrus answered, hiding his surprise. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."

"This should only take a minute." She booted up her omnitool and tapped in a few keys. "So you're Archangel, huh?" she asked, glancing up at him. "I saw when the Commander and Operative Lawson brought you to medbay. You didn't look too good."

"I guess I still don't," he said simply. "But at least I'm not bleeding anymore."

Daniels nodded. "How's your armor? Do we need to send someone to repair it?"

Garrus shook his head, linking his fingers behind his back. "It's functional. Just a little banged up."

"Okay." She glanced at her omnitool again. "You're all set. Just in case, have Shepard deploy some medi-gel on you or something, next time she puts you on her squad. If there's any kinks, me or one of the techs can figure it out."

"Thanks," he repeated. "I'll—"

The doors whooshed open, admitting another Cerberus crewman with a box of personal effects.

"Ah, Gabby. Already here," he said cheerfully.

"Kenneth," she greeted him. "What took you so long?"

"Had to find something to put this in." He shifted the box to his hip and stuck out a hand, looking at Garrus. "Gunnery Officer Vakarian, I assume. I'm Engineer Kenneth Donnelly."

"Good to meet you," Garrus answered, taking his hand. "Thanks for picking that up for me. I appreciate it."

"Pleasure's all mine," Donnelly grinned. "I hear you're the modern-day Batman."

"Batman?" he echoed curiously.

Daniels rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. Believe it or not, he's trying to compliment you."

"Well, it's not any man who can hold off three merc bands by himself for over a day," Donnelly retorted. "Where do you want 'er?"

"There's fine." Garrus pointed. "I'll go through it later."

"Good enough." He set down the box with a grunt, then dusted off his hands. "We should get back to work. You need anything else, Gunnery Officer, just shout."

"I will. Thanks again."

Donnelly strolled out. Daniels followed, then paused as she drew even with him. "Hey." She saluted. "Welcome to the Normandy."

_Huh_. _Guess they're not all assholes, after all_.

He'd barely sat down when the doors opened again. This time his visitor was an older crewman, fatigues smudged with stains.

"Gunnery Officer Vakarian?"

"That's me," Garrus said, getting to his feet.

The man saluted. "Mess Sergeant Gardner. I'm here to get your order for the next batch of rations. Any requests or food allergies?"

He shook his head. "No food allergies, Mess Sergeant. I'm not that picky either. Just no, uh, nutrient paste."

"Cheap date, huh?" Gardner shook his head, keying something into his omnitool. "Well, thanks for making my job easy. Not like some of these others. Tiramisu? _Pancetta_? This isn't a luxury liner, damn it."

_...Pancetta? _"I understand," Garrus said aloud. "I'll try not to cause any problems while I'm here."

"Smart fella. No sense annoying the guy who cooks your food." Gardner closed his omnitool. "I have what I need. Welcome to the Normandy, Gunnery Officer."

"Thanks for stopping by, Mess Sergeant."

Garrus waited a moment to ensure there was no one else coming, then settled onto his crate thoughtfully. He could feel Shepard's influence in her crew's spirit, and her hand in the way they'd helped him settle in. Her presence on this ship was like music playing in a different room of the same house—he didn't need to see her to know she was there.

Still, even Shepard couldn't make complete bastards into saints. _That_ was the thing confusing him. "Everyone here is...nice," he muttered. It was too damned disorienting to reconcile that with the Cerberus cells he, Williams, and the commander had wiped out two years ago. Mostly to avoid thinking about it, Garrus bent down and sifted through the box Donnelly had left. He'd been unconscious when they cleared his hideout, so Shepard had probably chosen what to salvage.

Helmet, C-Sec cuffs, Williams' dogeared extra copy of Whitman. All the essentials. He'd given up holos and physical correspondence to protect his family after leaving Citadel space, but she'd even grabbed the fist-sized paperweight he and Sol had tried sculpting when his sister had gone through an artistic phase ten years ago. Most who saw it thought it was cheap tourist crap, because that was what it looked like.

He dug deeper into the clutter. Roll of grip tape, his only pair of civvies, something that looked like Melanis's emergency flask of booze—probably an oversight—his old pack, and the HMWSR X he'd used on the SR1. Shepard had just handed it to him casually one day in the garage. Later he'd found out it cost over a million credits. Introduction of thermal clips in weapons technology had made it an antique months ago, but he'd never been able to throw it away.

Garrus turned the rifle in his hands with a grin, remembering how Ash had chewed him out for trying to take it apart.

_"What the hell are you doing?"_

_"I, uh, just want to see what's inside."_

_"That's an HMW line rifle! Spectre Master Gear? That gun's a prototype, Vakarian! If you take it apart, you might not be able to put it together again."_

He sat back, resting the gun's muzzle on the floor. Shepard had been thorough. Only thing missing was his M-92 Mantis. She'd been a damn good gun and it gave him a pang to think of her in the Suns' hands back on Omega, but on top of everything they'd carried out, him included, it'd probably been too heavy to bring. Besides, if leaving the rifle meant the mercs would think he was dead, it was a loss he was willing to bear.

Someone rapped on the closed door of the Battery.

"It's unlocked," he called.

No one entered. Garrus pushed to his feet and went to the door.

Place was empty except for a case on the ground. Garrus looked down the hall again, then knelt and opened it. Lying inside was his Mantis, cleaned and repaired. There was a piece of paper tucked along the body of the gun. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

_Garrus—Took your rifle for diagnostics and cleaning. She's fit for action._

_Shepard_

* * *

_Tightened up diction everywhere. Gentled implied Shepard-Cerberus tension; too heavy-handed. (Credit to anonymous moose.) Rewrote Shepard's talk with Jacob and surrounding lines for voice. Tweaked Garrus's belongings. Fixed a damn typo. Made minor voice edits to Shepard's introspection scenes. _|| _11.28_ _Edited first Garrus scene for syntactical variety._ || _12.26 Rewrote first two scenes for voice. Made edits to prose and dialogue throughout chapter for voice, primarily Shepard's._ || _12.27 Cut unnecessary clauses. __Use of "fingers" and "talons" is now motivated. Changed a word in second scene._ ||_1.23 Tightened up syntax throughout. Made minor voice edits to Shepard's internal lines. _|| _2.02 Rewrote Shepard's internal lines in second scene for voice. Rewrote one of Shepard's comments in the Armory. Rewrote Shepard's introspection in elevator. Cut clauses and made minor syntax and diction edits in Garrus's scene. __ **4.08 Rewrote first short. Rewrote one of Shepard's lines for tone and one of Jacob's introspection lines for humor.**_ || **_4.11 Rewrote a prose line in second short. Added a bit to Jacob's introspection lines. Reworked a couple of Shepard's lines in the monologue. Rewrote a number of Shepard's and Garrus's introspection lines for voice and brevity. _**||**_ 4.13 Cut clauses, unnecessary prepositions, and adverbs. Rewrote a number of Garrus's introspection lines throughout for voice. Swapped out first names for surnames in Garrus-focalized lines involving Gabriella and Kenneth: more appropriate to Garrus's degree of familiarity with them and with his professionalism._**


	3. Widow

_Chapter 3, published 4.13.12, **last updated 4.17.13**. details appended to chapter text._

* * *

Garrus looked up from his datapad as the doors opened. "Shepard."

She nodded, setting down the case in her grip. "Vakarian. Settling in?"

"Working out how to use this console, mostly. What's up?"

"We're going back to Omega for a potential recruit. Doctor Mordin Solus. Heard of him?"

"Yeah, he's got a clinic in the slums." Garrus set aside the pad. "Why?"

"I'm picking my squad." She paused, raising an eyebrow. "Up for it?"

He linked his fingers behind his back. "Shepard, I'm always up for another foray into Blue Suns turf."

She grinned. "I figured you'd say that." She looked him over. "Techs synced you and checked your gear?"

"Everything's working," he assured her. "Armor's chipped, but it'll stop a bullet just fine."

"Well, we can't do anything about the scorchmarks. But we gotta hide that, Vakarian." She pointed at the angel emblem on his arm. "Cerberus has to pay your med bill twice, Lawson's gonna shoot me."

"What, this?" he drawled. "Shepard, these guys needed a heat-seeking missile to hit me properly. They won't notice a personal sigil."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm not taking the Archangel into Blue Suns territory 'cause he thinks mercs can't use their eyes."

"It's not their eyes that're the problem, it's their brains," Garrus retorted. "They won't make the connection."

Her mouth twitched. "Cover it, turian, or I'm takin' Massani instead."

Garrus grumbled, kneeling to dig through his crate of belongings. "With what?" he demanded. "Underwear? Electrical tape? A cut from my one and only set of civvies?"

"Tape'll work," Shepard replied, not batting an eye.

"I hate it when I'm being sarcastic and you pretend you can't tell," he muttered, yanking a roll of tape out of the box.

"Or you could slap on an ordnance pack," she commented as he began winding the tape around his bicep, and held one out.

Garrus took it. "Damn you."

Shepard chuckled and pulled the tape off his armor. "Hey, go with field repair if you like it better."

He thrust his arm through the pack's straps and settled its bulk over the emblem. "Just for that, I'm stealing a couple of your kills today." He pulled the fastenings tight and rotated his arm, trying to examine the pack's placement. "Is that right? I can't tell without a mirror."

Shepard circled him, checking. "It's good. Y'know, I thought you wore lighter gear on the SR1."

"Yeah, I did." Garrus shrugged. "Most of us in the force were lightly armored. When I left C-Sec, I decided to sacrifice a little mobility for protection."

"Good you did. Doctor Chakwas said your armor probably saved your life. That standard-issue Aldrin wouldn't've—" She stopped midsentence, putting two fingers to her ear. "Shepard. ...Yep. ...This isn't a field trip, Joker. ...All right." The commander looked back at him, sticking her hands in her pockets. "We're twenty minutes out—I gotta suit up. Grab an assault rifle from the Armory, your pick, and meet me on the bridge."

"Mantis?" he asked.

Shepard shook her head. "I had techs assemble another sniper rifle for you after reading up on the M-92." She nudged the case she'd brought with a toe. "Lemme know what you think."

"Sure thing. See you there, Shepard."

She nodded. "Twenty mikes. Don't forget."

* * *

"The M-96 Mattock. Commander favors that one too," Jacob commented, coming up beside him.

Garrus brought the gun to his shoulder. Good heft. Solid build. Far cry from the Vindicator's slim profile—a weapon specced to utility, not elegance. "This is an older model."

"Yeah," Jacob replied. "Lot of human colonist militias use these for defense and hunting. The Illusive Man had 'em modified for thermal clips, but end of the day, it's the same gun."

He examined the gun's body. No automatic or burst-fire settings. "Semi-aut only?"

"That's right. She's a battle rifle—makes up for the lower clip capacity and slow rate of fire with high damage per round."

Garrus nodded, collapsing the Mattock. "This is the one."

"Sounds good. Let me log that." Jacob opened his omnitool and scanned the gun's serial number. "All right, she's yours to keep unless you want to trade in. Good hunting."

"Thanks."

"Gunnery Officer Vakarian?" Jacob said as Garrus reached the door.

Garrus turned. "Yeah?"

"Take care of that sniper rifle we assembled." There was an expression he couldn't read on Jacob's face. "Commander's made a real investment in you. I hope it pans out."

Garrus paused. That might be xenophobia. Then again, it might not. He still had difficulty pinpointing motive in human speech, except with old friends. Back on the SR1, he'd taken the pointed asides quietly, and the bigots had shut up when they saw that Shepard brought him on every mission.

Now...

_Let it go._

"Don't worry, Operative," he answered, walking out. "I'll put her to good use."

Back in the Battery, he set aside the Mattock and hoisted the case Shepard had left onto his crate. This was the investment Jacob had mentioned, which made him wonder if he was on his way to another HMWSR X moment.

_Probably_.

Garrus unlatched the case and flipped it open.

A smooth expanse of metal met his eyes. Stencilled on the barrel in neat grey script were the words _M-98 Widow_.

An antimateriel rifle.

He exhaled, running his hands over the gun's body. He'd read about the M-98 before. This was the gun state-of-the-art militaries used against armored vehicles and krogan. Only had capacity for thirteen clips—but it didn't need more. In every live-fire simulation and documented field report, the Widow had torn through kinetic barriers and dropped even regenerating organics with a single bullet.

No wonder Jacob'd had a stick up his ass about this.

Finally he couldn't resist and lifted the rifle from its bed, assembling it with a touch. Bolt-action, triple magnification scope, collapsible bipod. He raised it to his shoulder, looking down the sights. Thing had to weigh a hundred pounds.

And had probably cost about eleven thousand times that.

Garrus lowered the gun. "Holy shit, Shepard," he said under his breath. He couldn't remember where he'd picked that up. Williams, maybe. "Spirits alive," he added, then experimentally, "Jesus fucking Christ Mary mother of God." Not bad. Pretty cathartic. He wondered if it was a bad thing that human obscenity was becoming second nature to him, practically as effective as turian swears at relieving feelings.

Talking of swears—"Crap," he muttered, checking the time on his visor. Shepard had said twenty minutes. It had been eighteen. Garrus collapsed the Widow and stood, slamming the case shut. Time to go.

* * *

Shepard and Miranda were waiting when he got to the bridge. Lawson glanced at him as he arrived, then turned back to watch their progress. She'd assumed the commander's usual place right of the helmsman as Joker maneuvered their ship towards Omega Station. Shepard was in one of the empty support staff chairs in full armor, arms crossed and head bowed, asleep.

Garrus grinned when he saw her. Classic Shepard move, napping on the way to a mission. Ashley had said it was something a lot of marines picked up in basic, and Shepard had done it nearly every time they'd taken a cab or shuttle two years ago. In this case, it also deferred any attempt to thank her for the Widow.

He leaned against the wall between cockpit and bridge. The only thing Shepard was worse at than handling the Mako was accepting thanks. Civilian, Alliance, Council—it didn't matter. Every time someone had attempted recognition two years ago, she'd cut them short with a change of subject or "just doing my job," delivered with a blend of military impatience towards sentimentality and personal discomfort. Case in point: when the Councilors had thanked her for taking down Sovereign, Shepard had said, "Sovereign was just a vanguard. The Reaper fleet's still coming," and walked off, leaving Anderson to wrap up the conversation. Then, at the ceremony acknowledging humanity's new Council status, Anderson'd had to accept the commemorative crystal statuette intended for the commander, because she hadn't shown up. "Busy with repairs to the Normandy, Ambassador," she'd told an irate Udina later.

"Pulling into dock, Commander," Joker said aloud. Garrus straightened, one eye on Miranda. Body language read irritated, and he could guess the reason why. He gave it five seconds before she stepped in.

_Have fun with that_. He considered warning her, then shrugged mentally. They'd all had to figure it out on the SR1. Lawson wouldn't listen to him anyway. She probably wouldn't listen to anyone except the Illusive Man or Shepard herself, and Shepard only under duress.

"Commander, wake up," she said, walking over. "We're getting ready to disembark."

No response. Miranda's brows twitched together. "Commander," she repeated. "Can you hear me? It's time to go."

"I heard the man, Lawson," Shepard answered, not opening her eyes. "I also haven't heard the airlock open yet."

_Same Shepard. _Garrus coughed a laugh and looked away when Miranda glared at him.

"Yeah, Operative, didn't you research this or something?" Joker asked, turning in his seat. "Commander wakes up when it's time to go, not before and not after. Leave her alone, she gets cranky if you interrupt her naptime."

"Watch it, Flight Lieutenant," Shepard warned.

"Yeah, yeah. See what I mean? Cranky." He swiveled around to face front, and Lawson, after a moment, left Shepard and went coolly back to her spot. Shepard didn't move, eyes still closed, but he saw the corner of her mouth curve up anyway.

Garrus chuckled. He'd forgotten the little things. The lift of one eyebrow during conversation, shading everything with skepticism. The use of her officer's voice to build rapport without crossing the line to fraternization. The unfailing ability to sleep anywhere and everywhere.

A hiss as the airlock seals disengaged, and the door slid open. Shepard opened her eyes and stood. "All right, people. Let's move."

He knew what was going to happen, but felt obligated to try anyway. Garrus opened his mouth. "Shepard. Th—"

Shepard didn't slow her pace, clapping him on the shoulder as she passed. "Vakarian."

Garrus grinned and followed her into the airlock.

* * *

_Rewrote a couple of Shepard's lines for voice. Gentled implied tensions with Cerberus: heavy-handed, also misleading. (Credit to anonymous moose.) Rewrote all of Garrus's introspection and unspoken lines in final scene. Excised fluff that crept into the final scene. _|| _12.21 Rewrote most of Garrus's spoken and unspoken lines in the Armory and Battery, esp. parts concerning guns. Rewrote Garrus's introspection lines and adjusted prose for voice in the final scene._ ||_12.26 Tweaked diction for voice. _|| _12.27 Use of "fingers" and "talons" is now motivated. Tweaked diction for voice, again._ || _12.31 Tweaked diction in final Garrus introspection scene, for variety._ || _1.01 Cut a word in Shepard's first introspection scene. _||_ 1.23 Made edits for voice and style to introspection and narration focalized with Garrus. Minor voice changes to Shepard's talk with Jacob._ || _2.02 Swapped out a clause in prose for style. Cut unnecessary clauses._|| **_4.08 Changed Shepard's initial swear for voice. Rewrote a line in third short for military flavor._** || **_4.12 Rewrote Garrus's introspection lines in Jacob-Garrus scene._** || **_4.13 Cut superfluous prepositions and tightened up syntax in first scene. Rewrote Garrus's assessment of the Mattock. _**|| **_4.17 Cut superfluous adjectives._**


	4. Clinic

_Chapter 4, published 4.20.12, **last updated 4.13.13**. details appended to chapter text._

* * *

Two mercs were down the hall. Turian, Blue Suns. Crouched behind an overturned table as they held off the vorcha.

Shepard's rifle thumped his arm. He looked at her, and she jabbed her gun muzzle towards the stair to the top floor. _We'll hit 'em ground level, _she mouthed.

He nodded and split from them, one eye on the Suns. Halfway up there was a break in the gunfire.

"Oh, shit!" someone shouted.

"Means they've seen us," she reported dryly. "In position?"

He'd reached the balcony wall. Garrus crouched and unholstered his Widow, stifling a cough. "In position."

"Fire at will."

A lull as hostiles reoriented to their presence on the field; radio silence from Shepard. No surprise there. She hadn't prevented non-mission critical use of the comm two years back, but she never initiated the conversations.

Pretty strange conversations, too. One time in the middle of a firefight on Noveria, she and Ashley'd had a ten minute talk about Chinese food because the Chief brought up something called 'dimsum.'

"Shepard." Garrus settled his rifle on the ledge, visor tracing trajectories to the targets below.

A blast of gunfire crackled through his earpiece. "One down. Yeah?"

He looked down the scope and chose his mark. "Vorcha, two o'clock." Stilling his breaths, slowing his heart, he waited as the enemy edged into view. "Who's Batman?"

"Gunnery Officer, this is not the time to start a conversation about superheroes!" Miranda interjected. Garrus stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

"Relax," Shepard ordered. "We're not doin' anything difficult. Overload, front and center. Now." The sound of failing shields; two shots. "All Suns terminated. Batman's a comic book hero from the forties or fifties, I guess, last century. Masked vigilante on the side of the law."

The vorcha peered out of cover.

"Headshot," he drawled into the crack of the discharge.

"Beauty. Moving up, takin' point. Stay in cover."

"Aye aye." He ejected his heat sink, hearing Miranda confirm the order, and relocated to another spot on the catwalk. "Targeting. Firestorm, ten-thirty. What's his, uh, backstory?"

"Switch up and relocate, Lawson. Column my ten."

"Moving," Miranda said curtly.

"Sees mom and dad gunned down," Shepard replied. "Inherits a lot've money, uses it to create the Batman. Ladies' man extreme sports enthusiast before breakfast. Antihero crime fighter after dark. Hand to hand combat specialist. Civilians call 'im the Dark Knight."

He fired, sniping his mark cleanly between the eyes. "Headshot. Be advised, scanner's picking up heat sigs incoming right."

"I hear ya. Switching to tungsten. Targeting." Two shots, a triple tap from Lawson's pistol.

"Enemy down!"

"Likes workin' alone," Shepard continued after a moment. "Kid sidekick in some story arcs though. Won't kill a guy to save his life. Uses tech, smoke and mirrors to even the odds. Brooder. Nice car. Kinda sexy."

"Him, or the car?"

"Yep."

"Shepard, that doesn't—"

"Wears a cape too."

"Huh." Garrus looked down his sights. "I...guess that makes sense."

"It does?"

"Dunno. Targeting. Bastard with the cybernetic eyes, dead ahead. Donnelly called me the modern day Batman."

Shepard chuckled. "Drop the money, the no-kill mantra, and the car...ah, wait."

He adjusted his magnification. "Donnelly's idea, not mine."

"Firestorm left, Operative. Overload and shelter. You kinda brood, y'know."

"Do not."

The heavy's fuel tank exploded. "Good aim, Lawson. So when Daniels found you sittin' alone in the dark in the Battery—"

"...Uh." He shifted, tracking his mark as the enemy changed positions behind cover. "All right, brooding."

"Yeah. Varren." Her gun discharged. "Down. So you've got the brooding, got the cape—"

"Where did I get a cape?"

"Comes with the territory. You a ladies' man too?"

"Obviously." Garrus exhaled and fired. "Head_shot_. Tell me that wasn't a turn-on."

"Lawson. Warp, my two." Gunshot, gunshot. "Target down. You've never turned on a woman in your life, have you."

"I'll tell you a story, one day," Garrus said dryly, ejecting his clip.

"Oho. Turian's got a conquest. I bet—ah, shit. Enemy krogan, squad!"

Garrus looked down his scope. Big blundering idiot with a shotgun, armored and unshielded. "Took him long enough."

"Track 'im, Garrus. Fire on my order."

"Affirmative." He trained his sights on the krogan's head, waiting.

Three gunshots. "Lawson, kill re—"

The air distorted around the enemy's body then snapped into place. The krogan roared and broke into a charge for Shepard's position.

"...Fire."

The gunstock slammed hard into his shoulder as the krogan dropped, sliding into the barrier. "I love this rifle," he announced over the comm.

"Good. Cost me an arm and a leg, y'know." A pause. "Looks clear. I'm leavin' cover to collect clips. You need any?"

"Yeah. I'll be right down." Garrus straightened, cocking his Widow towards the ceiling, and headed for the stairs.

Halfway down his ears picked out running footsteps under the fans' hum. He looked at the commander. She was in the open, turning a vorcha on its side.

"Shepard—"

Miranda realized what he had in the same moment as life signs cropped up on the short-range radar. She ducked into cover, drawing her gun. "Enemies right!"

Shepard was on her feet instantly, Mattock to her shoulder. He turned and took the steps two at a time, trying to make the balcony before contact.

Her voice was steady in his ear. "Garrus, you get caught in the open, I'll cover ya."

"Good," he grunted, "Because—"

"Suppressing fire!"

Too late. Garrus spun and knelt on the landing as Shepard surged forward to meet the charge, rifle rapping out over the burst-fire of Lawson's SMG.

Nine vorcha, varren racing ahead. It dropped and skidded across the concrete when he pulled the trigger.

Lawson was in cover, Shepard advancing fast. A hostile slipped past Miranda's crossfire and crumpled, bullet to the spine.

He cranked the bolt, visor flashing data across his vision. Five dead, five clips, five standing. Shepard's shields fifty percent. Line was faltering.

"Heavy weapons," Shepard barked over the comm. Garrus looked, shuttling a concussive round into the chamber. Two Firestorms.

"Got him," Lawson said briskly. Blue flared across the plaza.

The other Firestorm was in his sights when Shepard's Mattock cracked against the bottom step and spun away. She'd drawn her shotgun. "Goin' in," she said harshly, and sprinted forward.

_Damn it, Shepard. You're lucky I'm a good shot. _Running the calculations in his head, he adjusted his aim swiftly and pulled the trigger, swatting the last heavy into a planter.

"Sniper!"

His shields flared beneath a hail of rounds, burning them to forty percent in 2.1 seconds.

He cranked the bolt, _come on Shepard_ _shields twenty I am not getting killed by a fucking vorcha—_then she'd closed the distance and he was vaulting the rail, rolling into cover.

He steadied himself against the wall and came up to see her smash a merc across the face with the stock of her gun, then swing the weapon back and unload a slug point-blank into his chest. She was closing with the last hostile before the first hit the ground. Ducking under his swing, the commander came up behind and kicked him to his knees, then executed him with a slug to the back of the head. The vorcha dropped.

The skirmish was over in under a minute. Shepard turned in place as the heat sink ejected smoking from her gun, checking their surroundings, and he saw the name printed on the barrel. _M-22 Eviscerator_. He ran the numbers without thinking. Nine vorcha, one varren. Five terminated in the first push, one by a warp field, three by Shepard seconds ago. All hostiles accounted for.

...Wait.

_Shit!_ The Widow snapped to his shoulder as the heavy he'd knocked away rose out of cover at her back.

"Shepard, _down_!"

She didn't ask. She just dropped to one knee, and the vorcha collapsed, his round between its eyes.

"Everyone hold." Shepard raised a hand, checking her omnitool. "...All right. That's the last of 'em. Lesson learned, next time we're waitin' for the full scan."

Garrus straightened and crossed the plaza. Shepard grinned at him as he approached, holstering her shotgun. "Thanks for that, Vakarian."

"No problem. You know," he said casually, "I'm better at CQC than I used to be."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "So your ass wasn't hanging out on the stairs, and I didn't need to take all that fire to save it."

"It's fine you did," he said innocently. "I'm not feeling well today. Something about a plague that kills turians."

"I gave you an out. And the ass-saving's force of habit." She snorted, picking up her Mattock. "I remember how you got floored every time someone looked at ya cross-eyed two years ago, even if you don't."

"Bygones." Garrus crouched, rifling through a vorcha's gear for clips.

"Whatever you say."

He eyed her, standing. Up close she was a bloody mess. "Any of that yours?"

She rapped the side of her thigh. "Grazed. It's gelled." She shook her head. "These shields are shit. Gotta be careful 'til we get some upgrades installed."

"Shame," Garrus drawled, amused. "I know how Shepard loves her shotguns."

"Yep." Shepard jerked a thumb at the sniper rifle on her back, and he realized it was a Widow. "Guess she'll have to give you a run for your money, in the meantime."

His mandibles flared in a grin. "We'll see about that."

Miranda came over, pistol in hand. "That was close, Commander. I'll monitor the scanner, make sure we don't have any more surprises during the mission. Ready to move out?"

Shepard turned to face her, smile fading, and slipped back into her officer's voice. "Let's go."

They set off down the hall in silence, the commander on point. Garrus considered as he loaded fresh clips into the Widow's breech. Unnecessary comm chatter annoyed Lawson. He knew it; Shepard knew it. They'd talked through the engagement anyway.

...Well.

"So, Shepard."

"Yep."

"What's pancetta?"

* * *

_Overhauled final combat sequence for brevity and tone. Rewrote all Bats dialogue and added more. Edited Garrus's reflections in first scene. Changed out words in squad comm chatter for voice and situation. Rewrote some of Shepard's squad directives. Retouched combat narrative. _|| _12.22 Dropped articles like the plague. Cut superfluous clauses. Tightened up syntax and tweaked diction througout to fit Garrus and Shepard's voices. Added more Bats dialogue. Rewrote all combat sequences. Changed a line in final exchange._|| _12.24 Changed opening line. _|| _12.27 Tweaked diction in early scenes' prose and dialogue for voice. Minor diction edits throughout for style. Changed Garrus's final introspection line._ || _12.31 Minor syntax and diction edits for style. _||_ 1.01 Fixed a numbers thing in final combat sequence. _||_ 1.23 Fixed a goddamn typo. Rewrote some of Shepard's lines for voice. _|| _2.02 Added a clause for narrative logic in first scene. Reworked some prose lines for style._ || _2.08 Cut an adverb. Opening scene: cut dialogue, rewrote most prose for style and voice, tweaked dialogue for voice. Ambush scene: rewrote some prose for style and voice. _|| _2.09 Cut a prepositional phrase, because who needs 'em. _|| **_4.08 Rewrote Shepard's mouthed line for voice. _**|| **_4.13 Added an article for syntactical parallelism._**


	5. Bait

_Chapter 5, published 5.22.12, __**last updated 5.07.13**__. details appended to chapter text._

* * *

Miranda strode out of decon when the doors unsealed without a glance towards either of them. Garrus started to follow, then stopped as a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

He looked down at her, surprised. "What's up?"

"You were baiting her, Vakarian." Her tone was serious. "You coulda looked that shit up on the extranet. Instead you started a conversation about it during a mission."

"I—" He stopped, cocking his head to the side. Shepard hadn't reprimanded him at the time, and the commander didn't pull her punches. But he recognized that voice. It was the one she used to put Ash in line when she got ethnocentric.

Garrus sighed internally. "Sorry, Commander. Won't happen again."

"Make sure it does." Shepard let him go and left the airlock.

"Wait." Garrus trotted after her, catching up as she left the bridge. "Make sure it _does_?"

Shepard didn't slow. "You heard me." They passed through the Armory and stopped outside the Comm Room. She turned and faced him, crossing her arms. "All right, Vakarian," she said, voice dropping below human hearing threshold. "Lawson's capable, but she's controlling. She needs to remember whose ship this is, and who sets the protocols. You wanna help me remind her, fine. Just nothing endangering, understood?"

He tried to decide if the Shepard he'd known two years ago would've told him to subvert another crew member, and admitted _probably not_.

He grinned at her. "Got it."

She nodded, rocking on her feet. "I gotta debrief the doctor. You want to wait, I can give you the tour after."

"Sure." He leaned against the wall as she went into the Comm Room, closing his eyes. He'd never admit it to her, but his wounds and the plague, cured or not, were taking their toll. He was tired, more than he knew he ought to be. And hungry. He'd had a double ration before the mission, and it still felt like he hadn't eaten in days.

Mordin was rattling off hypotheses for the seeker swarms through the door. "You don't have to sit there and guess," Shepard cut in after a moment.

Garrus grunted, trying to tune out the conversation. Ever since leaving Palaven to join C-Sec he'd become a chronic eavesdropper. It wasn't intentional, just incidental. Human architecture wasn't designed to block sound from turian ears, and humans weren't used to keeping their conversations private from a species that could hear across a deck. Two years ago, he'd known when Ash voiced concerns about him and Wrex to Shepard on the SR1. _That _had been awkward, since the commander had put him and Williams on her squad for nearly every mission. He'd also learned that Williams had three sisters, an obsession with human poetry, and a stick up her ass about the siege of Shanxi, without talking to her once. On this ship, he'd discovered so far that the mess sergeant also cleaned the toilets, Shepard hated oatmeal, and Hadley's hair product cost almost two hundred credits a bottle.

"Worthless," he muttered. Everything he overheard was worthless. Just a bunch of damn junk cluttering up his head that threatened to pop out whenever he talked to someone he'd heard, or heard gossip about.

_"Gunnery Officer Vakarian! How's it going?"_

_"Uh—" Better than it is for you, I guess. I heard your wife left you for your marriage counselor. Is he really quarian?_

_"Gunnery Officer Vakarian! Want to join us for a game of Skyllian Five?"_

_"Uh—" Engineer Donnelly's deck is stacked, you know._

_"Gunnery Officer Vakarian! Want to join us for lunch?"_

_"Uh—" The Yeoman wants to feel you out. I'll just get in the way._

And the crew wondered why he kept to himself.

"Follow me, Professor."

Garrus straightened as Jacob and Mordin filed out of the Comm Room. Jacob passed with a nod, but the doctor slowed, seeing him.

"Turian squadmate from Omega. Sniper. Former Citadel Security."

He linked his fingers behind his back. "And how'd you figure that, doctor?"

The salarian sniffed. "Armor blue and black, subconscious allegiance to C-Sec uniform colors. Conversation on Omega suggests conflict resolution training. Demeanor calm, authoritative under stress. Accustomed to working with civilians. Sniper personality profile fits C-Sec background. Also, own a Widow. Very expensive rifle. Only used by specialists. Currently suffering fatigue from wounds, exposure to plague. Should eat and rest." Mordin glanced at Shepard as she emerged from the Comm Room. "Quite committed of you to wait through meeting, considering state. Partners?"

Garrus stared.

"Nope," Shepard answered for him after a moment, apparently unfazed. "Garrus served with me on the SR1."

"Hmph. Rarely incorrect. Lab this way?" he continued, turning abruptly to the right.

Shepard nodded to Jacob. "Make sure he's set up, Operative."

"Aye aye, Commander."

Shepard set off towards the Armory. "Follow me, Vakarian."

He trailed her to the elevator, where the commander punched the call button then stuck her hands in her pockets.

"Taylor's poker face is better than yours," she murmured, looking up at the floor indicator.

"He went from profiler to medical professional to psychologist in under a minute," Garrus muttered back. "Was I supposed to pretend that was normal?"

She didn't answer, but her mouth twitched.

The elevator opened. "Get in," she ordered, and closed the doors. "All right. Your place or mine?"

"What about—?"

"Ship's not going anywhere. You heard 'im, you need to sit and eat."

"I'm fine," he protested. "You can't tell me you believe the guy after that."

She shrugged. "Doctor's orders. I'm your commanding officer—you pass out during a mission, it's my ass."

"Technically, I'm just a volunteer," he drawled. "Which makes you more of a club president."

She ignored that. "Or we could stand in the elevator for an hour. Begs the question, though."

"What question?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "What were we doing the whole time?"

Garrus glared at her. She looked back at him, smiling a little but not budging an inch, and he relented. "Yours," he said reluctantly.

The commander pressed the button for the fourth deck. "Smile, Garrus," she told him as they started the ascent. "I've got beer."

"Beer?" he echoed, intrigued. Shepard had never drunk alcohol on the SR1 when on duty, and as Ashley had quipped, Shepard was always on duty.

"Not an Alliance vessel," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're still you." Lieutenant Commander Shepard. The one who'd refused rewards and explained her orders and cited regs for turning down advances. Two years ago, she'd nearly disbarred Wrex for executing a petty crime boss she'd promised to let free. It was typical that she'd only chewed him out after securing Tali's safety and presenting her evidence to the Council. Business before pleasure. Also typically, she'd done it in the elevator, where none of them could escape.

_"Fist was scum, Commander. Dead, there's no way for him to hurt anyone again."_

_"Stay out of this, Vakarian. —A soldier who disobeys orders endangers his entire squad. You ever pull a stunt like that again, Urdnot, I'm not gonna stop at kicking you off the Normandy. We clear?"_

_"I was hired by the Shadow Broker to take Fist down. I was _honor bound_—"_

_"Answer the question. You gonna fall in line, or you gonna empty your locker and get the hell off my ship?"_

_"—I'll follow orders. Won't happen again, Shepard...unless you really deserve it."_

_"Noted. We keep that in mind, Urdnot, we'll get along just fine."_

And then Virmire. Good thing she was eloquent under stress.

Shepard chuckled as the elevator opened. "You don't know shit about me, turian."

"Actually," he said mildly, stepping out, "you hate oatmeal."

"Got me there." She waved her omnitool at the door to her quarters, unlocking it. "Try not to wreck the place. Be back soon."

"No nutrient paste," he called, and registered her smirk before the doors closed.

Garrus turned to her quarters. It was one thing to enter Shepard's room knowing she was inside. That was fine, expected even on the first Normandy. She'd kept an open door policy with all her crew. He studied the door, contemplating the facts.

One: there was probably a bed in there. And alcohol, apparently. Two: he was up for lunch, not a debrief. Three: Shepard was his commanding officer. It was harmless—they both knew that—but Cerberus didn't and neither did this crew. Involuntarily, he glanced up at the ceiling and found a camera staring him full in the face.

_...No_, he decided, and stayed where he was until the elevator arrived and Shepard stepped out.

She shook her head when she saw him and led the way. "C'mon."

Inside, Garrus looked around with interest. These captain's quarters were much bigger than the the ones on the SR1. Nicer, too. Better furnished. There was a stand either side of the bed, and a small desk with an empty holo frame in the corner. A couple of couches framed a low table, and an office area with a deep L-desk overlooked the rest of the room. The entire place was bathed in the bluish light spilling from—

"...Is that a fishtank?" he asked.

"Yep." Shepard was pulling boxes and thermoses of food from the two paper bags she'd brought. "And I'm not putting any fish in the damn thing, I'll tell ya that now."

He joined her at the table and peeled the lid off a bowl, peering inside. "But it adds so much to the decor."

Shepard grunted. "What it _does _is keep me awake all night. No way to disable the damn lights." She slapped a fork into his palm and sat, pulling a box towards her. "Red tags're levo. Yellow's dextro."

"You can't be serious," Garrus said, following suit. "You sleep everywhere."

"Wrong. I sleep in the shuttle where it's dark. I sleep in the cockpit where it's dark and quiet. Hell, I could probably sleep in the Battery with you muttering code all day, 'cause—"

"—it's dark," he finished, grinning. "Got it."

He set to his food: a burger, the mess sergeant's take on fries, and a bowl of what Ashley called 'white man's Asian' and Shepard 'crap Chinese'—steamed grain topped with low-grade meat, sauce, and stir fried vegetables. "Ahh," he said, popping a fry into his mouth. "I'd forgotten the taste of human military provisions."

Shepard shook her head, reaching for a salt packet. "You gone soft on Omega, Garrus?"

"Omega?" he scoffed. "We ate pyjak for breakfast. This is an upgrade."

"Yeah. I'll pretend that's possible, let you have your joke."

"I owe you," Garrus drawled.

She shook the salt into her fries. "Credit transfers and booze, Vakarian."

"No favors?" He bit into his burger.

Her hand stilled, and she lifted an eyebrow. "...Favors."

"Yeah, like..." He stopped and reexamined her expression. "Jesus, Shepard, _not _like that. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"You're the one who put it there."

"You're the one who enjoys the smell, damn it."

Shepard grinned. "No denying that." She flipped open her burger and started laying fries on the patty. "I like the obscenity, Garrus. Suits you."

"I bet Dad's royally pissed somewhere." He rotated the burger in his talons, choosing another point of entry. "He always said we kids were too ready to give up our culture."

She shook her head, using a stray fry to prod the others into place. "Fuck 'im. Your blood's still blue."

"So's yours before someone shoots you," he pointed out.

"All right, smartass."

A brief silence fell. Shepard was bent over her tray, crosshatching fries on her meat. Garrus watched as she replaced the bun, folding the last piece of his burger into his mouth. "Does it actually taste good that way?"

"Dunno." She took a bite. "Tastes like a burger and fries," she reported.

"No, really."

"Yep. It's math, Vakarian." She finished chewing and swallowed. "Potato and a cow go in, potato and a cow gotta come out."

Garrus tugged a napkin from under a box. "Almost sounds like one of your laws of physics, when you put it that way. What's his name. Uh, Newton."

"Newton's Third? Nah." Shepard dunked her burger into the levo bowl of crap Chinese, mopping up the sauce. "That's equal and opposite reactions. Rifle recoil. Fire a bullet, gun kicks back."

"Ah." He wiped his hands off, then tossed the napkin on the table and reached for his bowl. "Well, it doesn't matter. We survive this mission, you're getting your own law."

"That so?"

He unwrapped his fork. "Yeah."

"Lemme guess: law of impossible odds. Most court-martials in a career. Wait, got it. Law of hamburger equivalence." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and took another bite.

"I was going to say the law of infantry training."

Shepard angled a look at him, swallowing her mouthful. "Waitin' for the punchline, here."

Garrus shrugged. "It's just, I can always tell you started in the trenches, Commander. You get caught in the open, the first thing you want to do is charge."

She scoffed. "Listen, turian. I dunno what kinda show your Hierarchy's running on Palaven, but Alliance doesn't do wars of attrition. You see a point of entry, you close it. You get into a clusterfuck, you get yourself back out by hammering the weak point 'til it breaks."

"Sure, that works for some. But it's not the only way to get out of a tight spot."

She bent, reaching under the table. "Most times, alternative's handing your enemy the tactical edge 'cause your ass is in their sights."

"Have to disagree with you, there. Is that beer?" he asked as she straightened, bottle in hand.

"Yeah." She glanced at the label. "Bottom shelf, but it gets the job done."

"Have one for me?" he drawled.

She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you drank."

"I don't, usually. But I seem to remember being bribed up here with promises of alcohol."

"Nothin' dextro. Sorry."

"False pretenses, Commander. I'm disappointed in you."

"Well, now you're just making me feel bad." She snagged a notebook off her desk. "I'll put in an order with Gardner today."

"Just a joke, Shepard. I don't want anything."

Shepard shook her head. "Damage's done, Vakarian. You wanna get drunk on my tab, you're getting drunk on my tab." She uncapped a pen. "Pick your poison. Wine? Beer? Motor oil?"

"Uh." He hesitated. "Scotch. Or any fruit-based liqueur off of Palaven, if you can find it."

"We'll get it." She tossed the notebook on the couch and picked up her beer. "How'd you get hooked on after dinner cordials and human whiskey?"

He sank his fork into his rice, redistributing the sauce. "One I got from an uncle. The other one came from C-Sec buddies and Ash."

"Fair enough." She levered off the lid and dropped it into her empty bowl. "We were talkin' about something, earlier."

"Clusterfucks," he said dryly. "And differences of opinion on how to get out of them."

"Right." She sipped, grimaced, and swallowed. "Retreating's a waste of time and a waste of resources when you're short on both, Vakarian. You've gotta know that after the vigilante thing."

"Ten major criminal players in a year and a half, Shepard, I think that's more than just a 'vigilante thing.' And whatever you think of the Hierarchy, my tactics on Omega worked just as well as yours during the war with Sovereign."

"Hang on. You including Garm and those fuckers in that tally?"

"Yeah, why?"

She snorted a laugh. "Can't count 'em unless you took the kill shot, Vakarian. And I'm pretty sure you didn't."

"Oh, really." He sat forward. "Well, by that reasoning, you didn't defeat Sovereign. Joker spearheaded the attack; you just watched the show from CitadelTower."

"Ouch. All right, Archangel. Your point."

He chuckled. "That's what I thought."

She leaned back, resting her ankle on her knee. "So what would you've done in that skirmish today?"

"Well." He stabbed a vegetable with his fork. "For one, I'd've remembered I had a giant grenade launcher strapped to my back. Pop one of those off, watch them scatter." He chewed for a moment before continuing. "Take advantage of the confusion, get back to cover. Pick them off from a defensible position."

She shrugged. "Works in theory, but in practice that thing takes about three seconds to assemble. I coulda been taken out trying to use it under fire."

"So, instead, you charge in and hope that I'm good enough not to hit you by accident," he quipped. "Is that why you always brought me and Williams? You couldn't trust anyone else not to shoot you while you were punching people in the face."

"That's right." Shepard raised an eyebrow. "But if it's too much responsibility for you to handle, Vakarian, just give the word."

"Please," Garrus retorted, and she grinned. "You know I can do it, Shepard. I just want you to appreciate how hard it is."

She snorted, setting her drink aside. "Sure. I'll make a note of it in my next vid-call to your dad. Tell him GareBear's all grown up."

"...GareBear?"

She picked up her burger again. "Pretty soon, he'll even know how to use the gun when people are shooting back."

"Fuck you."

Shepard chuckled. "Wait 'til you see what a CareBear is."

* * *

[Hours later, Shepard's omnitool beeps in the night.]

_If I'm a CareBear, you're Twilight Sparkle the unicorn pony._

_Friendship is magic._

_GV_

* * *

_Rewrote most of the original banter. Added new banter in multiple places. Adjusted diction and syntax throughout for character voices; dropped superfluous adjectives for cleaner prose. Rewrote final short. Added a new flashback. _|| _12.18 Rewrote tactics and alcohol banter. Cut lines in final short__**. **_|| _12.24 Changed opening line._ || _12.27 Use of "fingers" and "talons" is now motivated. _||_ 12.31 Tweaked diction throughout for voice. Replaced prose in parts of the lunch scene for narrative logic. _|| _1.04 Rewrote a sentence in final short. Tweaked one of Shepard's lines for voice. _|| _1.23 Rewrote one of Shepard's lines. Tweaked others for voice. Tightened up syntax. Rewrote final short._ ||_ 2.02 Cut an unnecessary clause in prose. Split a direct quote. Rewrote one of Shepard's lines. Rewrote a clause in one of Garrus's introspection lines. Rewrote Wrex/Shepard flashback, added new dialogue, and added a Garrus introspection line immediately subsequent. Changed an adjective in the prose._ || _2.09 Tweaked diction in Garrus introspection scenes for voice and precision._ || _2.14 Rewrote prose and cut clauses throughout. Restored a word-final 'g'. Reworked a couple of Shepard's spoken lines. _|| _4.13 Swapped out a word in Garrus's introspection scene outside the Comm Room._ || **_5.7 Tweaked diction throughout for voice. Cut superfluous words and clauses throughout for style._**


	6. Shuttle

_Chapter 6, published 7.20.12, __**last updated 5.07.13**__. details appended to chapter text._

* * *

Shepard swung into the shuttle and rapped on the wall as the door sealed them in, signaling the pilot. The vehicle lurched into movement, filling the air with its drone.

She dropped into the seat opposite him and pulled off her helmet, then tossed it to the ground and put two fingers to her ear.

"Joker," she said aloud. "On our way." She listened, shoving sweaty hair out of her eyes. "Operative's a no go, but we got the data. I've uploaded it to Alliance Command. ...Guess we'll find out." She glanced at Miranda, who was looking out the window. "She'll be fine."

Garrus opened his omnitool and quietly patched himself in.

"—ll right, be honest, Commander. Was it SUSFU, FUBAR, or TARFU today?"

Shepard snorted, unholstering her Eviscerator. "None of 'em. SNAFU without the AFU, I guess."

"That bad, huh?"

"Check your acronyms, Flight Lieutenant." She reached down and wedged the gun under her seat. "First two letters stand for Situation Normal."

"Hey, give me a break. I'm learning this stuff from a subscription service."

"'The guy raised on Arcturus and surrounded by lifers since birth needs a subscription service to learn Alliance slang?"

"Well, lifers, yeah. Lifers who talk like this, no."

Shepard unclipped her Widow one-handed, slinging it under the seat without raising her fingers from the comm. "Hate to break it to you, Joker," she grunted, "but that's 'cause most marines don't use those anymore."

"Aw, really?"

"Yeah." Shepard's Mattock thudded to the floor. "Might hear 'em from FNGs trying to overcompensate."

"Who?"

She unholstered the grenade launcher, glancing around. "One sec, Joker."

"All right..."

Garrus held out a hand. Shepard nodded and passed it across, and he stowed it beneath his seat. "Put that in for you. FNG's a fuckin' new guy. Marine right outta basic."

"Nice. Thanks, Commander."

"Anything to keep the helmsman from doing his job."

"Come on, you know I could do this in my sleep. Speaking of which, I'm cutting into your fourteen hours a day. Have a nice nap. You want Gardner to make some warm milk? Or should I just fluff the pillows?"

"Laugh it up. Shepard out."

The call clicked off. Shepard leaned back in the silence, crossing her arms and closing her eyes.

They were on their way back from Lorek. The Illusive Man had asked Shepard to check the last known coordinates of a Cerberus operative who'd gone silent and retrieve any intel he'd recovered. She'd agreed, to everyone's surprise. What he should've anticipated was that when they found the OSD, Shepard would promptly upload its contents to Alliance Command.

_"What are you doing, Commander? That intel belongs to Cerberus!"_

_"Guess it belongs to the Alliance now, too."_

_"Shepard, you can't—"_

_"It's done, Lawson. Let it go."_

Garrus glanced over at Miranda, queuing up a few songs on his visor. Whatever the Cerberus operative was doing, he was willing to bet she wasn't letting it go.

Some days even he felt bad for her. Arguing with Shepard was like arguing religion with a hanar—completely pointless. Kaidan had tried to tell Ash the same thing once, when she'd repeated her concerns about the aliens on board to the LT.

_"It's an exercise in futility, Chief. With all due respect, the commander doesn't change her mind. She doesn't give a damn if you disapprove or if her decisions inconvenience you."_

_"But, sir—"_

_"Full stop, Williams. Want my advice? Be flexible and try to trust her. She usually makes the right call."_

At which point Williams had started needling the lieutenant about "ulterior motives" for trusting the commander, and Garrus had snuck back down to Engineering, putting down lunch as a lost cause.

The music began playing. Nothing obtrusive, just some quarian stuff he'd copped from Tali back on the SR1. Lots of fluty noises and weird croons and words that weren't in Galactic. Oddly, relaxing.

He sat forward and kicked the commander's foot lightly. "SUSFU?"

Shepard grinned without opening her eyes. "You gotta stop eavesdropping, Vakarian."

"You know I can't help it."

"So your omnitool powered up, found the call, and tapped it. Without any help from you."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "Technology these days."

She opened an eye. "You really going with PFM out of all the bullshit at your disposal?"

"PF what?"

"Pure fucking magic. Should tell Joker that one, too."

"Humans have too many acronyms."

"_Alliance_ has too many acronyms. Helmsmen especially. Dunno why he's looking for more."

"Overcompensating," he suggested.

"No making fun of the incurable diseases, Vakarian."

He chuckled. "So, SUSFU?"

"Situation Unchanged. Still Fucked Up."

"FUBAR?"

"Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition."

"Huh. TARFU?"

"Totally And Royally Fucked Up."

"And...SNAFU?"

"Situation Normal. All Fucked Up."

"So...what you're saying is, they all mean the same thing."

Her mouth twitched. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Thanks, Shepard," he said. "I really feel like I've learned something about your species today."

She smirked, eyes closing again. "I know the feeling."

A group of quarians was harmonizing in his ear. Garrus hummed a snatch of the refrain under his breath as he scrolled through the squad's telemetry. Standard fare, for the most part. Most kills: Shepard. Fewest bullets used: Vakarian. Highest shield stress: Shepard. Highest hit to kill: Vakarian.

Without Williams to even the odds, most of the categories were getting to be one man competitions.

On a whim, he opened his browser and keyed in "Alliance aviator slang."

[Ten minutes later]

_TO: Jeff Moreau_

_FROM: Garrus Vakarian_

_SUBJECT: what the fuck_

_Attachments: alliancepilotjargon . xtn_

_Boresight. Bingo to Mom. __In a fur ball?_

_This guy is just making crap up, right?_

A few messages had come in during the mission. He flagged the important ones to read later, then closed his omnitool and kicked her again. "Hey. What do you mean, you 'know the feeling'?"

"...Vakarian, I'm trying to sleep here."

"You're always trying to sleep. If I didn't interrupt you now and then, we'd never have a conversation."

"There's the double standard I've been lookin' for."

"I don't hold you to a double standard. You want to talk, come by the Battery any time."

"Uh-huh. I came by the Battery three days ago, and I quote: Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some calibrations."

_Crap, forgot about that._

"The calibrations are important," he drawled. "If the guns don't shoot straight, we're cooked in a fight against the Collectors."

"I'm Commander Shepard, and I'm important. If I'm killed in action 'cause I'm too sleep-deprived to react, the whole galaxy gets fucked."

Miranda stood and made her way into the driver's compartment, closing the door behind her.

"...Was that Lawson leaving?"

"Yeah."

"You're salting the wound, Vakarian. Scale it back."

"She's fine. Shepard, the average human only needs six hours a day. Put all your naps together, you're hitting eight to ten at least."

"You calling me average?"

"I'm calling you human."

"Bullshit. I'm a marine. I need more calories and more sleep than a civilian. And since the rebuild, my metabolism runs about double what it did before."

"Well. That explains why you eat so mu—"

"Fuck yourself, turian."

"Later. But double the metabolic rate doesn't mean double the sleep debt."

Shepard opened her eyes to scowl at him. "Here's a question. Do ya actually care, or are you just trying to annoy Lawson and keep me awake?"

"A little of both, maybe."

Shepard didn't answer for a moment. Then she shook her head, which he correctly interpreted as defeat. "I mean, you fuckers can _run_."

"It's true." Garrus crossed his arms. "Although, we fuckers aren't built to run while trucking a hundred pounds of sniper rifle."

Shepard crossed her arms too, settling her shoulders against the shuttle wall. She seemed to be fighting a grin. "Eighty-five pounds, Vakarian. Not a hundred. You talkin' about a specific event?"

"Just speaking in hypotheticals. The kind where I'm told to get up and draw the sniper's fire so someone else can take the kill shot."

"You were fine."

"I was exceptional, under the circumstances," he retorted. "Not changing the fact that no person, human or turian, should have to haul that much weight at full tilt for twenty yards."

"That the sound of a turian bellyaching I hear?"

"Turians never bellyache, Shepard. We—" His omnitool beeped. He raised a finger, looking down at it. "Hang on a minute."

"You wake me up twice 'cause what ya need can't wait, then you stop mid-act to check your mail. Kind of a dick move."

"Classy as always, Commander."

"Thanks."

_TO: Garrus Vakarian_

_FROM: Jeff Moreau_

_SUBJECT: Re: what the fuck_

_Attachments: italians . gif_

_In the spaghetti, my turian friend. In the spaghetti._

"You good?"

He looked up. "Uh...yeah. Fine."

Shepard lifted an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat and closed his omnitool, mentally filing away what he'd just seen to research later. "We were talking about a certain order you issued during the mission."

"No, you were derailing the conversation with a smartass quip about turians."

"Right." He paused, thinking. "Damn. I've forgotten it."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "It had to be done."

"Like _that_?"

She shrugged onesidedly. "Best solution under the circumstances, so yeah." She sat forward, linking her fingers. "Lemme get something straight, by the way. I bring you to the clinic, and you complain about the turian-killing plague. I bring you to Lorek, and you complain about being sniper bait." Shepard raised her eyebrows. "Put those together, it sounds like you're bitching about getting to come on every mission."

Garrus opened his mouth, then closed it. "I just forgot what it was like to take orders from you in combat," he grumbled. "You're a damned occupational hazard."

Shepard chuckled. "Missed you too."

"That doesn't mean I'm not going to complain," he added. "Or point out when I'm right."

She snorted a laugh. "You weren't right about jack shit this time, Vakarian. You thought you were gonna die, you didn't. You thought Canada was in the EU, it's not."

"I was right about your law of infantry training," he drawled. "We got fenced in and you chose the exit strategy with the highest risk. Again."

Shepard narrowed her eyes at him, drumming her fingers on her elbow. "That sniper was _entrenched_. I _couldn't_ flush 'er with a grenade, so I _gave _her a target. Lawson was out. It had to be you."

"Me."

"Yep."

"Your favorite turian."

"—Sure."

"The best sniper on your team."

"Dunno about that."

"You're kidding."

"Vakarian, I might like shotguns better but I can snipe with the best of 'em."

Garrus scoffed. "You were slow on the take."

"Like hell I was, and you were empty anyway."

"Like hell you weren't. You couldn't've loaned me a clip?"

"You were about ten yards behind me, in cover. Was I s'posed to chuck it over the crates?"

"Would've been nice."

"It was combat, Garrus. Not baseball."

"What's baseball?"

"Earth sport. Two teams, one ball. Batters hit the ball and try to tag four bases before the other team gets the ball back to home base."

"Sounds...interesting."

"Hey. I used to pitch for my league, y'know."

The door to the driver's compartment opened, and Miranda's head appeared. "Five minutes to dock, Shepard."

Shepard nodded. "Thanks. And sorry about Vakarian." She jerked her head towards him. "Rocket to the face must've broken his mute."

"Commander." Miranda retreated back into the compartment, mouth jerking up at the corner.

"There's nothing like being fodder for Commander Shepard's team building exercises," Garrus said peaceably. Shepard grinned at him. "Pitch?"

"Pitching's throwing. Pitcher's the one who throws the ball." She reached under the seat and began clipping her weapons back into place.

He waited until she was done, then offered the M-100 back. "So, you were a pitcher."

"Yeah." She waved it off, picking up her helmet.

"You threw crap around," he prodded, holstering the weapon on his own back. "That was your job."

"Yep." She got to her feet, helmet under one arm, and grabbed hold of the overhead rail.

"You were a pitcher who threw crap around, and you couldn't throw me a heat sink ten yards away."

"Ah, god."

"Just Garrus, Commander. No need for titles."

She snorted. "The day I call you god's the day you dance balls out bare ass naked on the mess table to the Beach Boys."

"Done."

"—What?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Done."

"Guess I'm not talking to the guy whose visor's glued to his—"

"It was the turian national anthem, though," he continued blandly, getting to his feet. "Not the, uh, Beach Boys."

Shepard shook her head as Miranda rejoined them. "Course it was."

Normandy's airlock was opening, the Kodiak pulling up alongside to drop them in decon.

"So were ya drunk, high, or on a dare?" She put on her helmet.

"I was on my dad's ship," he retorted, following suit. "I was five."

"That's what they all say."

The Kodiak's door lifted away from them. The ambient noise of the engine, the rustle of shifting armor and shifting weight ceased, swallowed by the vacuum outside. Shepard made eye contact with both of them, signaling that she would go first, then grabbed hold of the wall and pushed off hard.

She landed on the other side with a thump they couldn't hear, and signaled "proceed." Garrus waved Miranda ahead of him, then braced himself and shoved off the Kodiak's lip.

A few weightless seconds as he drifted across the gap; then the Normandy's mass effect field kicked in and he hit the airlock floor hard.

Shepard raised a hand and waved "Clear."

The Kodiak's door swung shut, and it sped off towards the shuttle bay as the airlock sealed them in.

"STAND BY, GROUND TEAM," ordered the decon VI. At some point—Garrus wasn't clear when, let alone why—Joker had nicknamed it 'Mr. Bubbles.' "DECONTAMINATION IN PROGRESS."

The commander grabbed him under the arm and hauled him to his feet. "Nice landing. Been awhile?"

"Not since the military," he muttered. "Deep space drops aren't part of C-Sec basic."

Something that sounded like a laugh came from Shepard's air filter. "Vakarian, I was out on a slab for two years. You've got nothing."

Garrus straightened his pauldrons. "What's wrong with decon in the shuttle bay, again?"

"Chamber's too small. We'd have to go one at a time." Shepard slapped him on the back. "C'mon. You just gotta remember not to land on your face."

"Another helpful tip from Commander Shepard," he grumbled. "Next you'll tell me I'm a dextro-based life form."

"Forgot to debrief you on that. Levo food's toxic to dextro life forms like turians and quarians. 'Toxic' means—"

"Shut up. Ma'am."

"Why, Gunnery Officer? You in the middle of some calibrations?"

"DECONTAMINATION COMPLETE," Mr. Bubbles intoned. "UNSEALING AIRLOCK. STAND BY."

"You're never going to let that go, are you," he drawled, following her onto the bridge.

"Not after today, asshole."

"It's impressive how long you two can talk about absolutely nothing," Miranda said dryly as they reached the CIC.

"Lot of practice." Shepard pulled off her helmet, wiping her forehead on her arm. "You oughta join in, Lawson. Trust me, works better than trying to tune it out."

The operative coughed into her fist. "Another time."

"Good." The commander hit the call button. "Going down?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. I have to report to the Illusive Man."

"All right." Shepard pointed at her. "Make sure you tell 'im it's all my fault."

Miranda hesitated, then smiled reluctantly. "I always do, Commander."

Shepard grinned at her. "That's the spirit."

They stepped into the elevator together as Miranda went into the lab.

"You just built rapport with a Cerberus officer," he said after the doors closed, hiding surprise.

Shepard shook her head. "I just built rapport with my XO."

He watched her as she went to the console. Shepard had seen the face of Cerberus, and he knew better than most how that had marked her. Only once during the war against Sovereign had she killed a man in cold blood, and that man had been a Cerberus scientist from the Akuze project. He would remember the look on her face as she'd done it 'til the day he died.

In her place, he couldn't have let it go. Cerberus's experiments had been sick, but they hadn't been personal. Not for him. For Shepard...

But that was why she was N7, why she'd made Spectre. Why she'd had the command at Akuze to begin with. The Systems Alliance and Council had known Shepard was a better leader than anyone else could hope to be. The Illusive Man had just seen it too, and he'd turned it to his advantage.

_Bastard_.

She looked over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows. "Quiet in here. Got something to say, Vakarian?"

He shrugged. "You really are a unicorn pony. That's all."

Shepard snorted as the doors opened. "Get the fuck out of my elevator. And Garrus," she added as he stepped out onto the Crew Deck.

He turned to face her. "Yeah?"

"You owe me an hour of racktime, asshole."

* * *

_Fixed file extensions. Rewrote ending introspection to fit Garrus's voice. Changed Garrus's final quip. Made minor edits to banter for Shepard and Garrus's voices._|| _12.22 Rewrote Shepard/Lawson dialogue in final scene. Cut unnecessary clauses._ || _12.24 Changed opening line. _|| _12.27 Use of "fingers" and "talons" is now motivated. _|| _12.31 Dropped a couple of g's for Shepard's voice. Tweaked diction and rewrote a couple of prose lines for Garrus's voice. Tightened up syntax for style._||_ 1.02 Cut a couple of unnecessary clauses in prose. Minor diction edits for style (in prose) and voice (in dialogue). Ramped up profanity, because I'm just that classy._ || _2.02 Cut a few adjectives._ || _**4.06 Slurred a couple words to better represent Shepard's drawl.**_|| **_5.7 Replaced "I'm Shepard" with "I'm Commander Shepard," for obvious reasons. Rewrote some of Miranda and Garrus's lines for voice. Cut superfluous adjectives._**


	7. Bug

_Chapter 7, published 12.02.12, **last updated 5.09.13.** details appended to chapter text._

* * *

The Battery doors whizzed open. Garrus looked over his shoulder, surprised.

"Shepard?"

The commander nodded, scanning the room, then strode over to the rail and reached behind it.

"Ah," he said, comprehending, as she came up with a tiny device in her hand.

"Find the rest of 'em," she ordered, examining it, and put two fingers to her ear. "Lawson. I need to see you in the Battery, now."

Garrus ran his talons along the seam of ceiling and wall. "What are you going to do?"

"Stop it," Shepard said tersely, prising up a corner of the floor.

A break in the ceiling's surface. "Think I...yeah," he said, twisting it free of the cabling. "Looks like an extranet protocol cam."

Metal screeched on metal as the plate ripped free.

"Shepard, what are you doing?" Miranda's voice drifted in through the door.

The commander stood, leaving the plating where it lay. "Give me that."

He tossed it across. Shepard closed her fingers over the bugs and strode out, doors shutting behind her.

Not that he couldn't hear the whole thing, anyway.

"Mordin found surveillance bugs in his lab," the commander said. "I just checked the Battery and found more. I want an explanation, Lawson, and it'd better be a damn good one."

A pause.

"The Illusive Man invested heavily in the Lazarus Project, Commander. He has a right to monitor our progress."

"Twice daily reports not cutting it?"

"Shepard—"

"Listen to me, Lawson. You want me to trust Cerberus, but every time I look I'm seeing another reason not to. You want me to trust Cerberus, but trust's gotta go both ways. I've got EDI copiloting the ship, a Cerberus XO I didn't appoint, and the Illusive Man playing gatekeeper for every dossier and crap piece of intel that comes my way. That's _enough_. Bugging the rooms where my crew sleeps and works is where I draw the line. Understood?"

"I—"

"Understood?"

"...Yes, ma'am."

"I want all of these removed and deactivated, today. EDI's surveillance functions too. Vid-feed's fine in the public areas. No audio anywhere."

"It's—your decision, of course, Commander. It would be a courtesy to speak with the Illusive Man about your concerns personally. You can settle on a course of action together."

"I'll pay him the courtesy of not chucking these out an airlock," Shepard said shortly. "I know they must've cost something." A rustle. "Take 'em. And when you report, think about this. As commanding officer of the Normandy, it's my prerogative to decide the rights my crew has and the liberties they're allowed. Your boss can be my backer or a headliner on _Galaxy's Most Powerful _or God in his own damn mind, I don't need his permission to run this ship the way I see fit. And if he's got a problem with that he can bring it to me. I'll gladly shove it up his ass."

Shepard walked back in, hands empty, and Miranda's steps moved off a moment later.

"We clean in here?" she said curtly.

"Yeah." He nodded to the hardware sitting on his crate. "Found two more. They've been decommissioned."

"I appreciate it." She hooked her thumbs into her pockets and looked around. "EDI?"

"Gunnery Officer Vakarian has located all secondary surveillance devices in the Battery," the AI replied. "Per your request, I have also disabled my closed circuit feeds in this room."

She bent to examine the aperture where he'd found the last device. "Tell Lawson I expect a report on my desk once she's pulled the bugs. Full disclosure, got it? Where your cameras are, what's considered a public area, and who has access to the feeds."

"Sending message now."

"And EDI." She straightened. "I don't need to explain that if Cerberus pulls a stunt like this again, I walk."

"Understood, Commander. Logging you out."

The intercom shut off, but Shepard didn't move. Her shoulders were crisp against the grey of the Battery, posture brittle and too tense.

Just like the last time.

_Shepard braced herself on the rail, looking down at the comm controls. She hadn't spoken a word since leaving Citadel Tower. Now, she had to tell them they'd failed. Noveria, Virmire, all of it, for nothing. Williams, standing with arms crossed by the Comm Room door, exchanged a look with him._

_She activated the comm and leaned over it._

_"This is Commander Shepard. The Council has denied our request for reinforcements, and the Normandy has been grounded."_

The news had been a blow to all of them, and it had hit Shepard the hardest. Her ship; her mission; her responsibility; her failure. They knew she saw it that way. Even her officers had avoided her. But Anderson had made contact a few hours in, and the problem had solved itself.

They wouldn't be so lucky this time. Cerberus was the problem here, and Cerberus was the one thing she couldn't walk away from. That was bad enough; but everyone she knew was tangled in it, too. Chakwas and Joker had joined Cerberus of their own will. He and Shepard had woken up in Cerberus facilities, precluded from even making a choice.

Frankly, he could live with that. Looking at the commander's biometrics, he wasn't sure she could. His armor scraped as he settled against his console to wait, and she turned abruptly to face him.

"Sorry about that, Vakarian."

"It's all right." He chose his words, watching her for cues. Hard lines had etched deep around her mouth, and her tone was deliberately casual. "Anything the Illusive Man saw, everyone already knew. I code all day. Sometimes I sleep."

"C'mon." A muscle jumped in her jaw when she smiled. "You telling me you don't have a couple porn subscriptions or dates with a phone sex goddess now and then?"

"Sure. But the porn downloads directly to my visor, and I only cyber in text chat. To a surveillance cam, it just looks like I'm doing my job."

Her laugh was clipped. "Sounds like you're experienced at dodging responsibility."

"Work in law enforcement long enough, you pick up a few things," he said, watching as she lifted a miniature transmitter from his crate. "Bad eating habits. Banned erotic vids 'misfiled' by Evidence. The occasional criminal."

Shepard shook her head. "Glad my taxes paid your salary." She fell silent, weighing it in the palm of her hand.

"You planning on pawning that?" he inquired, when it was clear she wasn't going to speak.

"Dunno. What's the going rate?"

"For the voltage and make, I'd say about seven hundred credits. Not a bad return, if you're willing to find a buyer."

"That 'return''ll buy me about one percent of a decent rifle mod."

"Well, when you put it like that."

She dropped it in her pocket, then pulled it out and studied it. "You ever get interference?"

"Not that I noticed. Then again, I didn't know we were under surveillance. Why, you?"

"Nope." She scowled, following that thought where it led, then shook herself out of it and raised her eyebrows at him. "Wanna see some mystical powers?"

He didn't comment on the change of subject. "Only if they're real. I see a mass effect field anywhere, I'm filing a complaint with your booking company."

"They're real." She transferred the bug to the other hand, then showed him both sides of her receiving hand, fingers spread. It was nowhere in sight. "Couldn't do that with biotics even if I had an implant."

His mandibles twitched in amusement. "Sorry, Shepard, but I think that was a sleight."

"Parlor trick." She passed her hand over her open palm, and the transmitter reappeared. "Only people I can fool're usually drunk off their asses."

"I'm not drunk yet, and you're better than some I've seen. There was a salarian illusionist on the Citadel a few years back who got laughed out of Zakera Theater."

"That's just physiology. Can't do coin tricks with three digits." She took the transmitter between her thumb and forefinger, rolled it, and turned her hand palm up. It was gone.

"All right, I don't see how you did that," he admitted. "But then I'm not a closet magician like you."

"Nah, I'm a warlock. Higher base attack bonus."

"I don't know where you get this crap from, Shepard."

She shrugged. "Copy of the D&D 13.5 Handbook in the head."

"No, I mean I don't—" he stopped. This talk was making less sense than usual, and Shepard was too distracted to throw him a line the way she normally did when he didn't follow. Back in C-Sec, he'd been given a manual on human conversation patterns. That knowledge had helped him comprehend human colleagues in the early days, when he'd still expected things to compute. _It's relevant_, he told himself. _You just can't see how. _"What's D&D?"

"Classic RPG back on Earth. Think it was invented about a century ago."

It took a second for the acronym to register. When he remembered what it meant, it didn't help. "There's a handbook on hundred year old rocket-propelled grenades in the women's bathroom?"

"Rocket-propelled...the fuck? No!"

They stared at each other.

"What are you talking about, Shepard?" he demanded.

"What are _you_ talking about?"

"The D&D 13.5? The...RPG. What does that have to do with magicians?"

"They're some kind of class. I dunno what—ah." Her expression cleared. "RPG like roleplaying game, Vakarian. Not RPG like rocket launcher."

"It stands for both?"

"Yeah."

"Too many acronyms," he grumbled. "If we ever find a magician, I'm telling him to vanish them from the human lexicon."

"We ever find a magician, I get to use him first. I'd pay a lot of money for a guy to vanish Cerberus." There was an edge in her voice half-hidden by the joke.

"Sorry." He cocked his head to the side. "Should've kept me in the dark about your lack of magical aptitude. Now you're just a con artist."

She snorted as the device reappeared in her palm. "Somethin' wrong with 'Marine who knows coin tricks'?"

"Come on, Shepard. You can't fit that on a business card."

"I don't have a business card."

"Yeah, because your captions are terrible. What's your CV banner say? 'Alliance officer, likes guns?'"

"Actually it says 'humanity's last hope and good at just about everything.' Why, what's yours say? 'Garrus Vakarian, master of the universe, closet stripper'?"

"I'll have you know there's some who'd pay a lot of money to see me strip."

"Yeah, that's 'cause they're planning to blackmail ya with the footage." She vanished the transmitter. "Bet you're a good con artist, yourself. You've got misdirection down."

"Meaning?" he drawled.

"For about half a sec I thought you were capable of feeling, 'stead of a walking talking robot. Glad I was wrong."

He chuckled. "Just keeping you on your toes."

"My toes have nothin' to do with it." She raised her eyebrows. "Last act, Vakarian. You ready?"

"I'm ready. Make it good."

She showed him both sides of her hand, then closed her fingers over her palm. "Magic word."

"_Con artist_," he said in turian.

Shepard shook her head and reopened her fingers, revealing the transmitter.

"Wow."

"I know, real theatrical."

She swept the hardware into her pocket and settled onto his crate. Her thumb tapped against her knee.

Garrus watched her hand. Restless fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, iterative motions like coin tricks under a pretense of exaggerated normalcy. Back in C-Sec, he'd have flagged her for suspicious behavior.

"So, sleight of hand." He crossed his arms.

Shepard glanced up at him. "Yeah."

"Where'd a respectable woman like you learn that?"

She scoffed. "And by 'respectable' y'mean what? I load my gun with my pinky finger out?"

"Something like that. You know, alerting me before you queer my shot. Offering terms when you know your opponent won't surrender."

Her mouth twitched. "Gotta observe the common courtesies, Vakarian."

"Oh, naturally. It's all that separates us from them."

"Them?"

"Cerberus. Reapers. The assholes we're about to put in the ground."

"Right." She linked her fingers and sat forward, knee bouncing.

He went to the hole she'd made in his floor and crouched, picking up a piece of plating. "So what was it, Commander? Baseball? Alliance?"

"Reds." Her heel drummed against the floor. " I played baseball in the Alliance. Pitched for the Marines."

He fitted the plate back into place. "Tell me about it. The, uh. Origin story of your so-called mystical powers."

_Tap-tap-tap_. "Reds did a lot've petty theft and vandalism when I still ran for 'em. MO was a two team play. One to do the job, one to run interference. Keep cops and civilians lookin' the wrong way."

"By doing what?"

"Tripping an alarm. Breaking a window. Loitering really fucking obviously outside the storefront." She stopped, mind clearly elsewhere. "I was always distraction, not point."

Garrus sat back on his heels to check that the seams were flush. "And that meant?" he prompted after a few seconds, turning to see her.

She looked over at him, thumbs tapping together. "Meant I took the blame if I didn't bug out fast enough. That, and I had a lot've time to learn stupid shit."

"There's always time to learn stupid shit," he commented. "Take your helmsman. He's subscribed to about fifty different vid-series, and he still manages to fly the ship."

"Joker gets to sit on his ass all day 'cause if he stands up too fast, his bones break." She shifted. "Any Alliance officer who earns his stripes in PT's got less time to spare than a vorcha in breeding season."

"And PT's...physical training."

"Yeah."

"So—"

"So Moreau's a great pilot, but he had an edge his classmates didn't. He won't admit it, but he knows it. It's one of the reasons he has to be the best."

"He overcompensates." He held up his hands when she scowled at him. "I remember, Shepard. No making fun of the incurable diseases. Just proving a point."

She shook her head, not answering. Shepard, damn good officer but an incurable idealist. Hard decisions and hard judgments were part of a military career, and she'd made them in her time, just as he had. That she wouldn't look it in the eye and admit the necessity of doing so was her call.

He stood, dusting off his hands. "So you had time to kill, once. I guess the Alliance changed that."

"Alliance changed a lot of things. ICT most of all." She stared at the wall, brow creased. "New family. New rules."

"New baggage?"

"That too." The commander looked at him over the steeple of her fingers, then shook her head. "Cops. You profile me yet, Vakarian?"

"Awhile ago, yeah."

"Join the club."

"Just a habit, Shepard. You know I don't mean anything by it."

Her eyes were fixed on the far wall. "And what's your habit tellin' ya?"

Garrus considered. "Under duress."

The commander nodded and fell silent. He waited, counting heartbeats. One, fifteen, twenty-one. Her fingertips tapped slowly against each other, keeping their own time.

"Think I may've been too hard on Miranda," she said at last.

He thought about that. Political blowback had been a constant threat in C-Sec, whose prominence in the public eye and mandate to keep the peace spawned hundreds of civilian complaints per day. It was one of the reasons he'd been content to stand back and let Shepard take point two years ago. As a liaison without commission on the Normandy, he hadn't been responsible for mitigating fallout when they did crap like detonate a nuke on a habitable world or loose a rachni queen.

"I've heard worse," he said mildly. "As commanding officers go, your hand's pretty light. Besides…" he shrugged. "It's your ship, Shepard. Cerberus needs to know they can't jerk you around."

"You're saying to find a balance," she said flatly. "I feel like I'm walkin' through a minefield, chucking grenades all over the place."

"A small minefield, maybe. But it's simpler than you're allowing it to be." He leaned against his console. "Lawson's not an idiot, and she's not made of glass. You censured the Illusive Man, not her. She followed his orders, and now that you've made your position clear, she'll follow yours." He crossed his arms. "I wouldn't ask her for anything beyond the call of duty, but she'll respect your authority without undermining it. Besides, she's fair. She'll like you if you get the job done, Shepard. And you always do."

"...All right." She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, closing her eyes.

Garrus studied her. In the entirety of his time on the SR1, Shepard had never voiced uncertainty. Then again, things had been a lot more black and white then. Alliance was good. Reapers were bad. Politicians were assholes but understandably so.

"You did the right thing," he pointed out. "This is a new crew. You need to set down ground rules."

"I know." She glanced up at him, and her mouth jerked up at the corner. "I was just thinkin', 'shove it up his ass' was prob'ly overkill."

"Definitely," he agreed. "It was still a nice touch."

She rolled her eyes. "Course you'd think so."

"What does that mean?" he drawled.

"Look, Garrus, you're kind of a dick."

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

"All the time."

"When it counts. Anyway, you like it."

"That so."

"I'm always first in on a mission. I know a favorite when I see one."

Shepard raised her eyebrows, but a tiny smile had appeared. "You ever think I bring you along for your good eye?"

"It's crossed my mind," he admitted. "But I prefer to believe you don't just use men for their bodies, Commander."

"Actually, if I haven't used a guy for his body by breakfast, I'm not doin' my job right."

"Is that so. Who was the lucky victim today? Or—" he checked the time on his visor. "Zero eight hundred. Had breakfast yet, Shepard? Or is there, uh, something you wanted to ask me?"

She snorted. "We all have our delusions."

"That's what you humans call them?"

"The hell else could you call 'em?"

"On a good day, propositions. On a bad day…" He shrugged. "I've never had one."

She shook her head, pushing to her feet. "All right, I'm gonna head out." Her mouth twisted. "Find somethin' to do."

"Anyone need saving?" he inquired. "You know I'm always up for some target practice."

"Nah. More like empty my inbox. Clean my gun. Chuck shit into the fishtank, see if it floats. Thanks for the help, Vakarian."

He checked her vitals again. "Any time."

"Talk to you later." She walked out, hands in her pockets.

Trust Cerberus to screw with Shepard's head when she needed it clear for the mission. Garrus turned to his console and opened his email client.

One thing he knew was that kicking around the ship would make things worse. For a woman who slept everywhere and who, he admitted privately, was rock steady with a sniper rifle when she wanted to be, Shepard was restless. Combat had always been the best antidote to that, but upgrading her team's kit was a close second. Guns, mods, and gear were the only things he'd ever seen her drop credits on, the way species-targeted ads were forever telling humans to splurge on faceted gemstones. Whatever they were called.

The hard ones made out of pressurized superheated dead crap.

Garrus scanned for an address, still groping for the name of those fucking rocks. Turians didn't give a damn about gems, so it'd been yet another thing he'd had to research upon leaving Palaven. One of his first cases had involved recovering a stolen one.

Carbon. Covalent bonds. Crystal lattice. 2800 B Umi Street, Kenzo District.

"_Diamonds_," he muttered. He shut down his equipment and strode out of the Battery. "Shepard," he said, opening a channel. "You there?"

"Yeah?" Her voice went live over his communicator, doubled in real time across the Crew Deck. He looked for the source, walking down the hall.

"Where are you?"

"Waitin' for the elevator, where the fuck else," she said as he rounded the corner, and looked over her shoulder. "Hey."

"Hey. You ever find those FBA couplings the engineers wanted?"

Shepard shook her head. "I poked around the lower markets on Omega, but I didn't see 'em."

"Maybe you weren't looking in the right place."

"Maybe," she admitted. "I didn't spend the last two years squatting in that shithole. Unlike you."

"Glad you asked nicely," he drawled, stepping into the elevator with her. "We're in the system anyway, Commander. Let's go have another look."

She glanced sidelong at him, lifting an eyebrow. "You tryin' to take care of me, Vakarian?"

"No. If the suicide sprints are going to be a regular addition to my day, I want better kinetic barriers covering my ass." He reached around her and hit the button for the CIC. "I'm just bringing you along for the ride."

* * *

_12.03 Rewrote ALL Garrus introspection. Added more banter. Rewrote a number of Shepard and Garrus's spoken lines for voice and flow. Tightened up syntax and cut unnecessary clauses. _|| _12.23 Reworked a couple of Shepard's lines near chapter end for voice._ || _12.31 Tweaked diction throughout for voice. Tightened up syntax throughout for style. _|| _1.02 Minor diction edits for style._ || _1.30 Cut superfluous clauses. _|| _2.02 Added dialogue to opening scene. _|| **_5.07 Rewrote opening scene with an eye to character dialogue and narrative flow. Fixed two naming conventions. _**|| **_5.09 Cut clauses for voice. Replaced a comma with a question mark, because it's GRAMMATICAL._**


	8. Shield

_Chapter 8, published 12.17.12, __**last updated 5.07.13. **__details appended to chapter text._

* * *

Omega's air was hot, close, and dusty as ever. Half the lights had shorted out in the docking bay, and those remaining flickered as their power ran low. Gritty, grimy, all too familiar. Out of habit, Garrus checked the corners as they left the airlock.

"This place's a shithole," Shepard muttered.

"You've said that before," he commented, starting down the hall.

"Yeah, well, it deserves another mention." The commander fell in step beside him. Even helmeted and armored, he could hear the tension in her terseness, and read the watchfulness in her body language.

"Expecting trouble?" he asked casually as they passed a batarian prophet.

"This was probably the worst idea ever," she said shortly. "Only been a couple weeks since we shot the place up. Omega's too hot for us to be walkin' around like this."

"Look." He stopped and faced her. "Even if there's trouble, Aria won't want you killed on her station."

Shepard snorted. "I'm pretty sure Aria doesn't give a shit."

He shook his head. "Trust me. You've proven yourself an asset, and she won't lose an asset if she can help it."

They started walking again. "So I'm good 'til something else slips the net. 'Cause that's never happened before."

"Moreau was right," Garrus observed, turning down a side passage. "You really are a downer."

"You ever hear 'a pessimist is what an optimist calls a realist'?"

"Chief Williams. I think she was advising you not to let aliens have run of the ship."

Shepard grunted. "No, she was only worried about you and Wrex. Guess Tali and Liara were too ingenuous to pose a security risk."

"You're probably right. The two of them didn't exactly sell criminal mastermind."

"And you did?"

"Shepard," he drawled, "Do you know how much your people talked? I knew _everything_ happening on that ship. I could've blackmailed each individual crew member and lived off the proceeds for the rest of my life."

"Uh-huh. So the visor—"

"That's right. I have vid-proof that you drink double strength coffee and stick decals in your gun locker. How much do you think that's worth to the Shadow Broker?"

Shepard snorted. "Yeah, criminal mastermind, seein' it now. You learn anything I actually give a damn about?"

"There was mention of kissing turians at some point. I'm still waiting for that one to bear fruit."

"Help if you had lips."

"I don't need lips to rock your world, Commander."

"So you keep sayin', but I've never seen a turian female, Vakarian. I'm pretty sure you fuckers have no sex drive and reproduce by mitosis."

"One day I'm taking you to Palaven. When I'm surrounded by adoring turian women on all sides, you'll see what you let get away."

"Wonder where Williams is now," Shepard said, slowing to look at a kiosk. "You ever hear from her?"

"No." He stopped, waiting. "I haven't been in touch with any of the old team since...uh."

"Since I died and you went AWOL," she supplied.

"Something like that, yeah."

She turned away from the stall and caught up to him. "So where we going?"

"For the couplings, this hole in the wall. Literally. Storeowner's a nice kid. Quarian. For the upgrades...I've got a contact in one of the residential districts who was holding some things for Archangel. Unless she's already sold everything, she'll be looking to unload."

Shepard glanced at him. "This contact of yours gonna recognize you?"

He shrugged. "I doubt it. One of my team always handled the transactions with her."

"What if she does?" Helmet air filters always made Shepard's voice sound more turian, somehow. Right now, her subtone was flanging suspicion.

"She won't."

"And if she _does_—"

He patted her arm. "Then you get to say 'I told you so.'"

* * *

[Fifty-seven minutes and four seconds later]

Shepard threw herself back into cover, ejecting her clip. "_I told you so_, turian," she hissed under the hail of gunfire.

Garrus glanced over at her. She'd removed her helmet for the tactical advantage of peripheral vision and targeting visor. Sweat-soaked, scowling, and in full combat mode, with no trace of the frustration she'd let slip in the Battery.

"If you're going to be mad, you should stop enjoying yourself so much," he retorted.

Her scars flashed orange under the light when she grinned. "Last time I'm ever letting you drive."

"There was a guided missile launcher," Garrus returned, risking a glance over the wreck of their cab. Bullets sparked off the hood and he hunkered down. "How was I supposed to avoid it?"

The commander loaded a brace of clips into her Mattock, hands steady. "Evasive fucking manuevers. Heard of 'em?"

"You can't outmaneuver a missile at close range!"

"Yeah, _you_ can't. Rocket to the face, rocket to the cab. You have a magnet in your ass or something?"

"It's called a magnetic ass, Shepard. Be precise." He checked the scanner. "Hostile target at eleven. Cover me."

"Got your back." Shepard rose out of cover, keeping the others pinned down as he sighted. "Shields eighty. Forty. Tw—"

He pulled the trigger.

They yanked themselves back into cover as his mark flickered out on the scanner. "I always liked that you don't waste bullets during suppressing fire," he said conversationally.

"N7s don't waste ammo." She rolled her shoulder in its socket, glanced over the cab, and ducked as a bullet richocheted off the edge. "Rule Number Two."

"What's Rule Number One?"

Shepard snorted. "N7s don't make mistakes."

"I'm pretty sure that's been disproven about a thousand times." He shook the clip from his rifle.

"No shit. I let you drag me down here, remember?"

He opened his omnitool. "It was a good idea at the time."

"What is it now?"

"Probably the worst idea ever," he admitted, pulling up a map of the area.

"Well, at least we got some shield schematics out of it." She peered around the cab again and muttered something unparsible in English. "We gotta move—they're gonna make a push. Options?"

He studied the map. "Sewers that way. Carport in the opposite direction. Take your pick."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "What about their car?"

"Whose car?"

"Mercs had to get here somehow." Shepard jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "It's parked back there behind 'em. I heard it land."

"So did I, but it's still _behind_—forget it. You're not seriously suggesting a frontal assault."

She shrugged. "We gotta break cover. Might as well go forward."

"Shepard, it's too—"

He felt the impact before he heard it, a missile as it arced around the cab and clipped the hood.

Pain.

Shields down, smoking debris, Shepard yelling incomprehensibly over the comm.

Shots fired through the roaring silence in his ears.

A gauntleted hand smacked the side of his helmet.

"...karian! I n..." He looked towards the sound of her voice, attention concussed, contracting to a fine point. The words dimmed then sharpened into harsh lines. Shepard had her Widow out, teeth bared. "...t motherfucking heavy! Go shellshocked on me and I'm leavin' your ass for the mercs, read?"

The obscenity penetrated the fog in his brain. Shepard: adding incentive by the swear since 2183. Or. No, before that. Had he seriously been hit by another missile?

His faceplate cycled back and Shepard's face filled his field of view. "_God damn it, you turian son of a bitch, I didn't survive a Reaper to get killed by a squad of wet-behind-the-ears mercs, DO YOU READ_?"

—_Concentrate. Prioritize._

His head was spinning and his shoulder hurt like hell, but he had audio and—he flexed his fingers—full motor control. Combat fatigue and a flesh wound. That was all. Clamping down on the dizziness, he rolled onto his stomach with a grunt and assembled his bipod. "Read, Shepard."

"You good?" she demanded. "'Cause in about ten seconds—"

"I'm fine." He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them, steadying his breaths. "Orders."

"Two ML-77s on your ten by the planter. Batarian's mine." Shepard glanced at him, readying her rifle. "One shot. They get another missile off, we're done."

"Break cover in three," he said tightly, closing his faceplate.

_One._

He exhaled.

_Three._

"Kills confirmed. I'm empty," he told her as they shifted back into cover. "Any spare clips?"

The commander slid her pistol across the floor. "Reload from that and poach sinks from your assault. I'm goin' in."

He opened the pistol's chamber, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder. "You try to break their line, Shepard, you have to cross fifty yards of ground with no cover."

She reached into the cab and pulled out her helmet, scorched but functional. "Look," she said, putting it on. "I don't wanna wade around in other people's shit for an hour tryin' to get back to the surface. I also don't wanna go to the carport, 'cause there might be civilians around. So let's take theirs and get the hell out."

He checked the scanner on his visor. Twelve, maybe thirteen hostiles. Doable, if they got out before reinforcements arrived. "...Fine. But I'm not in any state to do the runner this time."

"I need you at range 'til I've softened 'em up. And you're not gettin' anywhere near a hostile 'til your CQC's better." She unholstered the M-100 quickly and slapped it on the ground beside him. "I need this door, Vakarian."

He lifted it away from the cab's body and leaned back as a silicon-carbide blade assembled from Shepard's omnitool. "Give me the rundown."

"You're on midrange weapons. I close with the shotguns and draw fire. No ECM, understood? You fry my shields, I'm goin' back to Normandy in a bodybag."

"Use common sense," he drawled. "Got it."

"Sharp guy. Glad I poached you from C-Sec." She sliced through the hinges, metal glowing red-hot where it melted away from the blade. "Find officers and fight from cover. Mattock's for when you go mobile."

"What about the door?"

Her hands were busy, bending supports salvaged from the cab's carriage into bell curves. "Ballistics shield's gotta have handles. Status report?"

"Two scouts moving up. Rest are in cover. Conferring. Or radioing for reinforcements, in which case we're screwed."

"Your optimism's inspiring, Garrus." She set the first piece and soldered the ends to the door.

"Optimism is your job. Mine is realism." He doused the supports with his water bottle, sending up a plume of steam. "Though now that I think about it, we've been in worse situations. Slightly."

"There you go." She hefted the door onto her left arm with a grunt, taking up her rifle in the other hand. "Give 'em a grenade then switch to SR. Don't let 'em flank me."

He set his Widow in easy reach and picked up the M-100. "You know I won't."

Shepard nodded. "Move in five."

Movement on his scanner overlay. "More hostiles advancing," he said, glancing around the cab. "Seven across now. Leaves five to seven still in cover." Shepard nodded, not looking at him. Her body was tensed to move.

_Four_. He cranked the launcher to ready position.

"...Firing left of center."

The grenade detonated on impact as the line crumbled around it. Shepard was gone, six yards forward and firing.

"Three casualties, tech retreating," she said curtly. "Targeting two o'clock."

He raised the Widow to his shoulder as her Mattock discharged. "Tech down."

"Shotgun down. Shields ninety. Concentrate fire left."

"Acknowledged. Targeting assault, nine thirty." His sights passed over a woman as she fired over the wall, then swung back as she handsigned to another merc. "Hang on, found the alpha. Human female, eleven."

"Take 'er out."

"Copy that." He scoped his original target, hitting him between the shoulderblades as he tried to vault into cover. "Scratch one—"

"Make it two. CO?"

He ejected his clip. "Sorry."

"Damn it. Advance party terminated, all hostiles in cover. Shields seventy. Garrus—"

"Yeah?"

"She's gonna sic 'em on me. Have to drop the door."

"Understood. Stay this side of the wall. Hold to the right."

Ten yards. The remaining mercs had bunkered down, waiting the signal to attack. Smarter than they looked. Shepard slowed, holstering her Mattock and drawing her shotgun. Garrus rested a talon on the trigger, watching the scanner.

"Movement right. Three, cancel, four hostiles converging on your position."

"Got it. Nine yards." A split-second pause. "Overload, disengage."

"Your call." He activated his omnitool. "ECM's hot." The commander shook out her shield arm; he took a breath—

They all broke cover at once. Three muzzles on the wall, four bodies charging, cab door clattering to the ground, shields flaring against the bullets. Garrus released the charge and shot the alpha without waiting to see if the pulse had landed. Her head painted the concrete.

His spent clip hit the floor. Commander's shields one fifth capacity. Assault ejecting, scoped, dropped.

He ducked into cover, cranked the bolt, checked the scanner. Three standing.

"Shields down," Shepard snapped.

Garrus holstered the Widow, grabbing his assault rifle. "Coming."

Forty-five yards, thirty, concussive round in the chamber, twenty, line of sight flashing Shepard merc Shepard too fast to aim.

"Taking heavy fi—" The words tore off in a spray of blood.

He dropped to one knee. "Get out of there, Shepard!"

No response—a merc staggered sideways and collapsed—her body rolled away from the press. "Cl—"

The round landed just shy, blowing them off their feet. One, two shots. The last of the Suns flickered out on the scanner.

"...Clear," he echoed.

Shepard pushed to one knee, growling with the effort. "You ever play video games?"

He knelt beside her, pulling out a medpack and the rag he used to clean his rifle. "No."

"Well, I'm pretty tired of takin' all the agro."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He shook out the cloth. "You want me to fix that, Shepard, I'm going to need a look."

Her hand was clamped over her left knee; she lifted her palm away carefully and swore as blood spilled between her fingers."Fucking shit. All right, make it quick."

He cleared away the worst of the blood, exposing the broken skin beneath. "Well, they didn't hit a major artery."

"Halle-fucking-lujah."

"Might've shattered the patella, though, which is—"

"Worse, yeah. Got it."

He tore open the packet. "You're telling me Cerberus doesn't have trauma modules installed to our hardsuits?"

"It look like I had a fuckin' trauma module back there? 'Best technology money could buy,' my ass," Shepard gritted as he smeared medigel on the wound.

He stood, checking the scanner. "Well, something for you and the Illusive Man to talk about."

"Chock full've helpful commentary," Shepard muttered. "Look, Vakarian, I'm gonna need a boost."

He pulled her to her feet, grinning. "Cranky after taking fire. Just like old times."

"Something happen when I died?" she demanded, following him to the cab. "'Cause I don't remember you being an insubordinate fuck on the SR1."

He climbed into the driver's seat. "I always thought these things about you, Commander. So did the rest of us. We just didn't let you know."

"Great." She strapped herself in. "I take that crew into hell, and now you tell me it was for the pay."

"That's not true. The medical benefits were pretty good too."

They sped towards the nearest airway.

"I thought you were never letting me drive again," Garrus commented, merging into the traffic.

"Yeah. That was before I took a bullet riding shotgun with Omega's most wanted." The commander took off her helmet, grimacing. "This does permanent damage, you owe me a kneecap."

"I have an exoskeleton, Shepard. Also, it seems to me I owe you a hell of a lot since joining this crew."

"Yep." She counted off on her fingers. "Rifle, racktime, body part, your sorry fuckin' life—"

"Seeing as I've just saved _your _sorry fucking life, I think that one should be struck from the ledger."

"...All right." She crossed her arms and settled back, closing her eyes. "I'll see if it can be done."

He chuckled and checked his rear view. "I appreciate it."

* * *

_12.17 Changed a couple hostile identifiers._||_ 12.23 tweaked diction and punctuation during combat sequences for voice. Rewrote a couple of Garrus and Shepard's lines._|| **_1.02 Tightened up prose syntax for style. Minor syntax and diction edits for voice._** || **_1.04 Dropped a g in one of Shepard's lines. Retouched one of Garrus's lines for voice._** || **_1.23 Added em-dashes to battle scenes. Couple of diction changes for Shepard and Garrus's voices. Tightened up syntax in a few places._** || **_2.02 Swapped out a verb in opening scene. _**|| **_5.07 Swapped out a word in the missile scene for voice._**


End file.
